


Never One Thing

by queenofchildren



Category: Still Star-Crossed (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Romance, fluff and a little bit of angst and we'll see what else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-02-16 07:38:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 45,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13049520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofchildren/pseuds/queenofchildren
Summary: Rosaline has to find some poor guy to use as her guinea pig for a new video for Glam! magazine, or risk letting her sister get turned into a viral meme. Benvolio has to make a woman fall in love with him if he wants a shot at turning a dream into reality. They both have ten days to complete their mission - and at the end of those ten days, nothing will be the same for either of them.(aka, the How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days AU nobody asked for.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know I should be working on Falser than Vows Made in Wine, but this idea came to me and I just HAD to write it. I had to.  
> Also, @openmouthwideeye encouraged me and gave me lots of helpful plot tips and listened to me whine about my characterisation difficulties, so you can thank her for this mess of a new fic too. (Seriously though, thank you!)  
> Oh, and the fic title comes from May Erlewine's song "Never One Thing".

This whole “finding a man to spend the rest of your life with”-business is hugely overrated, Rosaline thinks.

For one thing, it's the 21st century – women can provide for themselves, and aren't forced to hitch themselves to any man with a stable income anymore just to avoid starvation.

For another, men are the _worst_.

This is a belief she's held for a long time, consolidated over years of bad dates and crushing break-ups and being bypassed at work by much less talented or dedicated men. And today, that belief is being once again confirmed when her sister shows up at her office a crying mess, ranting incoherently about the latest man who started out as “the One” and then quickly proved himself to be not one bit better than the rest of them.

Rosaline quickly sets her down, hidden out of sight from her editor-in-chief's office at the other end of the sprawling editorial floor of _Glam!_ Magazine. Tessa Montague runs this office with an iron fist, and spontaneous visits by hysterical family members are definitely not tolerated – but this is her little sister, and she clearly needs help.

Rosaline equips her with tissues, emergency chocolate, and one of those gel masks against puffy eyes (a promotional gift she found while looking for the chocolate), takes her through a calming breathing exercise – with limited success – and then makes her tell the whole story.

The whole story, of course, is one she's heard dozens of times before because her little sister is a hopeless romantic, and while Rosaline herself just swore off men after the last one who broke her heart, her sister just gets up again every time some dude with good hair tramples all over her, puts on her brave little smile, and gets back out there. It's impressive, in a way, and there are days when Rosaline envies her sister's optimism – but it also leads to drowning in tears like now, to frantic 2 am-phone-calls and weekends spent entirely buried under piles of blankets.

But every time a new man shows up in her life, Livia believes, with unshakable hope, that he will turn out to be different – and every time he turns out to be exactly like the rest of them. And the worst part of it is that every time this happens, Livia gets a little more convinced that it's her own fault somehow. Right now, while Rosaline takes a furtive swig of sickly-sweet cream liqueur (another promotional sample from the depths of her desk), Livia is listing all the things she must have done wrong to drive off another Perfect Guy, and it breaks Rosaline's heart to see her like this.

The moment Livia is done with her list, which if Rosaline counted correctly, is at least fourteen bullet points long, Rosaline wants to tell her to stop blaming herself, that she's a catch just the way she is and any guy would be lucky to have her – which is not just a meaningless saying but the honest-to-God truth, because Livia, as her meme-loving colleagues from the online content division would put it, is a cinnamon roll as well as smart and beautiful and generally amazing.

But before she can say all of those reassuring things, a voice pipes up behind her:

“This is amazing.”

Turning around, Rosaline spots Valentina, one of the aforementioned online content editors from two desks over, holding a camera in one hand and smiling, and her stomach plummets all the way down to the lobby.

“What do you mean?” Livia asks, even as Rosaline already has a pretty good idea of what she means, and it's nothing good.

“I mean you just expressed what every single woman in this city is thinking every time another of her relationships falls apart. Every weird thing women do to drive men off – it's like a whole list of how to lose a guy instead of find one.” Valentina smiles, a sight that reminds Rosaline of nothing so much as a shark. “Honey, you're going to go viral.”

That's enough, Rosaline decides, snatching the camera from the other woman's hand.

“No, she's not.”

“But...”

“I'm not letting you expose my sister to the internet like this. They're going to tear her apart.”

“They're going to _love_ her,” Valentina coos, turning to Livia with an exaggeratedly sweet smile. “She's going to become the hopeful single girl's new icon.”

“She's not doing anything of the sort. Because you're not going to publish that video without her consent, and she is not consenting. And if you do it anyway, she will sue _Glam_ for its entire ad revenue.”

“Now, what's this talk of suing?” A new voice joins the fray, calm and friendly but with a definite warning edge to it: Tessa Montague herself has descended from her office, a glass cube elevated on a platform above the rest of the room, as if summoned by the mere mention of money (or the threat against hers).

“Valentina filmed my sister without her knowledge or consent, and now she wants to put it online.”

“You should see it, Tessa – it's exactly what you said we need for our online content. Someone real, relatable. A single gal from the city, battered by love and yet too hopeful to give up.”

Rosaline makes a face of disgust at the choice of words. But to her horror, Tessa seems intrigued.

“And what insight can she give our readers?”

“She'll tell them what not to do if they're serious about wanting a relationship. All the pitfalls to avoid.”

“She won't tell them anything, because this video is not going online.”

That was a mistake, Rosaline realizes immediately: Not only does Tessa seem to like the idea, but her boss absolutely hates being told No.

“Now, let's think about this. If I understand correctly, that video was filmed here, am I right?”

Rosaline nods reluctantly.

“So you had a private visitor, here at your place of work. You wasted paid time to talk to them about their own private life, which you know is against office policy. And instead of taking the opportunity to make some use of that wasted time, you're now making a scene?”

Now Tessa really is pissed, and if she doesn't act fast, someone is going to pay the price for it: Either she's getting fired from the job she badly needs to pay her rent, or her sister is getting exposed to the merciless black hole that is the internet.

“Of course I'm making something of that opportunity,” Rosaline forces herself to smile reassuringly, “I was going to use our conversation as the base for my new article: “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Steps”. It's going to be great.”

Tessa seems at least intrigued now, though not completely convinced – but Valentina isn't giving up yet either.

“It's a great article idea, but you know if we use the video, we get ten times as many clicks. It will exponentially increase our coverage.”

Rosaline is getting increasingly desperate.

“I'll do a video myself then. And it won't just be looking back and crying,” Livia glares at her from the side, “I'll recreate _everything_. Every item on her list, I'll try on a real guy, and see how long it takes until he's running for the hills.”

Slowly, Tessa smiles her cold smile – and Rosaline knows she's won.

Well, not _won_ , really – she still has to find some poor guy to try all of this terrible stuff on. But for the moment at least, her sister is saved from infamy and meme-status.

“Do it. But make it ten days instead of ten steps – there's a board meeting in ten days and they want to see some edgy new stuff from _Glam_ , something guaranteed to go viral. Your video will be _perfect_ to impress them. And if it doesn't hold up,” she takes the camera from Rosaline's slack hands, “we're using Valentina's footage. And I don't think _anyone_ will be suing us if they want to keep their job.”

***

 

She gets started on her assignment that very evening, meeting Livia and her cousin Juliet at a bar near _Montague Publishing's_ office building to scope out potential targets. Of course, before they get around to that, Livia spends about half an hour apologizing for getting Rosaline in this situation in the first place, and Rosaline has emptied her entire drink by the time she's done.

“Look, Liv, there's no need to apologize. It was that witch Valentina and bad luck, and it won't kill me. Its ten days, and if things go as planned, I'll probably be done after about three.”

Livia still looks a little worried, unlike Juliet who is enjoying the whole idea a little too much. But Rosaline, buoyed by alcohol and the killer dress she borrowed from her friend Isabella who's in charge of fashion at _Glam!_ , decides to get this over and done with.

She doesn't even make it two steps away from their booth before she bumps into someone – a very unwelcome someone: Benvolio Montague is standing before her, holding out a drink and beaming at her with what she assumes he considers a winning smile.

"Capulet! What a pleasure to see you here!"

She knows who he is, of course, has seen him around at company-wide events like Christmas parties and such: Nephew and protégé of the company patriarch, second in line to the throne of the Montague family's publishing empire. The "second" in his unofficial rank gives her great pleasure, because otherwise everything about him seems designed to piss her off: a spoiled little rich boy who slid into a coveted editor position not because of talent and hard work but because his family owns the whole damn company. Unlike her, he resides in one of the editorial offices on the highest floors, working for the glossy, high-brow politics, culture and society magazine that was once the company's cornerstone.

Nowadays, it's a well-known secret that the company's most prestigious publication isn't contributing much to its overall net worth beside its venerable name. The money is being made by grunts like her in the low-brow women's and lifestyle magazines, who sell their soul along with cosmetics and diet products for a chance to slip in a few meaningful words in between pages upon pages of ads. Of course, this fact doesn't stop Montague junior from seeking her out at every company function specifically to make stupid jokes about her work, presumably just to rub it in how very far she is from doing the kind of pieces she went into journalism to write in the first place. Articles that _matter_ , that enable women to get informed and take charge of their own lives – beyond recipes and sex tips and diet plans.

"Oh come on Capulet, you're not even going to talk to me?"

Yup, Rosaline confirms to herself, the Montague is a pest – and she's already begun skirting past him when it occurs to her that, for once, this might turn out to be a good thing.

She turns midway through passing him by, cocks her head to the side, and studies him with a challenging smile.

"That depends – is that drink for me?"

"That, or whatever else you'd prefer. But I think you'll like this one."

He holds out the drink, and she takes it warily.

"And what makes you think that?"

"Because it's like you."

She takes a sip, then immediately makes a face. It's mostly for show, because Rosaline always enjoys a good Whiskey Sour, and this one is excellent – but she's not letting _him_ know that.

"Sour, bitter, and not even prettied up a little – is this your attempt at a compliment? Because I have to tell you, it could use some work."

Her pushback doesn't faze him at all.

"Classic, straightforward, not for the faint of heart. And that _was_ meant as a compliment."

"You seem to think you know me very well."

"I'd like to, at least."

Rosaline's first instinct is to be wary, and to tell him where he can shove his weird drink-based compliments. But then she looks past him to her table, where Livia and Juliet are watching the exchange with unabashed horror. She has to admit, she's maybe not giving it her all on the whole "charm a man to make his life hell"-business.

But Rosaline has never been particularly good at charming.

"I tell you what, Montague," she takes another sip of her drink, both to fortify herself and because it really is a damn good Whiskey sour, "for every thing you tell me about yourself, you get to find out something about me."

"Are you trying to get dirt on me, Capulet?"

"If I am, you'll have just as much to use against me." She takes another slow sip, holding his gaze as she licks the last drop of sour-bitter-sweet off her lips. "Mutually assured destruction."

His eyes stay on hers save for a brief flicker to her lips, a clear but surprising message: maybe she underestimated him after all.

Then he laughs and holds out a hand, and the spell breaks.

"Alright – you tell me yours, I tell you mine."

Shaking his hand, she's honestly surprised he agreed to this – but also relieved because for a moment, she completely forgot what she's actually trying to achieve here, and if he walked away, she'd have to start all over again.

But he's still here, and he seems determined to make the most of their deal: Steering her over to a free table tucked into the corner, he asks his first question.

"So, why do you hate me so much?"

"I don't…"

He cocks his head sideways, expression indicating that he's not going to believe any of her claims, and she decides on a whim to abandon all attempts at polite denial and just be honest.

“I don't know. It's not you personally, I guess – I don't even know you, really. It's just... your type.”

“My _type_?”

“You know – trust fund guy, well-connected, doesn't have to worry about a thing in the world and just gets handed a job other people work their asses off.”

His face darkens.

“You've got me all figured out, don't you?”

“Am I wrong?”

“About the trust fund? No. But that doesn't mean you know me, and what I do or don't worry about. It doesn't give you a right to judge me.”

He definitely looks angry now, not aggressively enough to scare her but enough to make her understand that he's right: She has no right to judge him based on what little she knows of him.

“You know what, this was a stupid idea. Have fun without me.”

He slides off the barstool and turns to walk away when she grabs his arm and holds him back.

“Benvolio...”

It's strange to be saying his name, possibly the first time she has ever done so, but it works at stopping him in his tracks.

“You're right.” Slowly, he turns back around. “I don't know you, and I don't have a right to judge.”

She can't quite bring herself to say sorry, because pride is definitely one of the cardinal sins she falls prey to, but it seems to be enough anyway: He slowly comes back to their table, with a wary expression but apparently determined to give her another shot.

"I did like the drink you bought me."

It's perhaps not the best way to get this conversation back on track, and definitely a weak alternative to an actual apology – but after one fraught moment, Benvolio's face breaks into a smile.

"I know."

Rosaline raises a skeptical eyebrow.

"I saw you order it at last year's Christmas party."

"Are you stalking me, Montague?"

"Am I _stalking_ you once a year at our Christmas party? I'd be a pretty inefficient stalker if that was my game plan."

"There's also the summer parties. Although," she makes an exaggeratedly pensive face, "if I recall correctly, there was a woman with you at the last one."

"That was my girlfriend, Stella."

"So what happened to her?"

He laughs. "Really, Capulet? You tell me one drink you like and want my romantic history in turn?"

Rosaline shrugs, but she can't quite stop the satisfied little smile on her face. "I drive a hard bargain."

"Yeah you do. But alright - we broke up, fairly amicably."

"Because…?"

"Because I wanted more and she didn't."

Rosaline doesn't know what to say to that. Memory has reminded her that it wasn't just Stella she's seen him with at office parties over the years – there was a steady stream of beautiful women before her, so it would never have occurred to Rosaline to think of him as a monogamist, even a serial one.

"Huh," she comments not very intelligently. "I would have thought it would be the other way around."

“I take it that story doesn't line up with your prejudices."

"I'm not…", she begins, but she just admitted that she was in fact biased against him, so she can't really take that back now. “Alright. Yes. I admit, I thought you were a bit of a manwhore.”

He lays a hand across his chest theatrically. “You wound me, Capulet.”

“Oh, come on. There have been a _lot_ of women over the years.”

“Have you been keeping count?” He winks, voice infused with infuriating smugness. “For the record though, I'd like to say that I think it doesn't matter how many people you're with but how much fun you have with them.”

“I take it you don't believe in “quality over quantity”,” Rosaline counters drily.

“Why not both?”

She's about to give a skeptical reply, but he seems determined to prove his theory.

“I mean, come on – you can be with just one person for years and still get treated like shit by them, and you can have a one-night-stand and make sure everyone gets what they came for and no one gets hurt."

She's not entirely sure what to think of that, especially in light of the fact that she knows very well you can get hurt by someone even when you know them intimately, have spent years at their side, and never thought they'd ever do anything to hurt you. But in the end, Rosaline reminds herself, she's not here to figure out Benvolio Montague's stance on romance, she's here to make him regret he ever came over to her table with that drink.

“Is that what you're angling for here, a one-night-stand?”

The idea was to catch him off-guard, and for a moment, it seems he is – but then he smiles, slow and seductive, while he fixes her in place with his eyes.

“Nope.” He leans forward and lowers his voice, forcing her to lean in closer as well. “I have a feeling one night isn't nearly enough time to learn everything I want to know about you.”

It's no doubt a line, tried and tested on dozens of women who most definitely did not get to stay for more than one night – but at the same time, the way he says it makes her feel like she's the only woman he's ever going to think about, while at the same time convincing her that that's exactly what she wants.

It's very disorienting, and Rosaline decides a change of pace is in order. A change of lighting too, while she's at it. There's no way his eyes are this intense under harsh neon light.

“Let's get out of here.”

Benvolio's eyebrows shoot up on his forehead.

“Are _you_ angling for a one-night-stand?”

Smiling enigmatically, she takes his hand to pull him out the bar after her.

“I've got something even better in mind.”

***

 

“You're a genius, Capulet.”

“Because I remembered pizza exists?” She bites into a slice of said pizza, catches a thick string of cheese with her tongue and hums with pleasure as its savory flavor hits her.

“Yes. Because I was starving, and this may be the best pizza I've ever had.”

“If you're that hungry, I'm pretty sure you'd say the same thing about the pizza carton.”

“I would _never.”_ He actually looks outraged, and Rosaline feels a gigle form in her throat. “This really is damn good pizza. That's a compliment too, by the way. Because you didn't seem to like my last one very much.”

“' _You know good pizza'_ is your idea of a compliment?”

“I'm sorry, was that not poetic enough for you either?”

She shakes her head, laughing.

“Let me try again then.” He swallows the last bite of his pizza, which he ate with astonishing speed, then turns towards her on the little bench they're sharing outside the pizza parlor.

“You want better compliments, huh? Well, what about this: I've been talking to you for,” a quick look at his watch, “over an hour now, and I still can't believe it's actually happening.”

She swallows hard, causing a painfully big bite to slide down her throat.

“Am I getting there? Let me try another one.” He looks at her again, a look she's quickly realizing is dangerous, and she holds her breath in anticipation of his next words. Oddly, he then breaks his gaze to glance up at the sky above them, twinkling with stars so bright they're even visible above the glare of the city lights, before he looks at her again. “I'm pretty sure if you looked up right now, I could see every single star reflected in your eyes, and it would be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.”

Her breath actually catches at the words, the softness and earnestness with which he says them – and then he laughs, self-conscious and a little shy and completely adorable.

“That was too much, wasn't it?”

“It was certainly poetic.”

“Okay, one more try.”

She nods, still a little floored by what may be the most poetic compliment she ever got – and then Benvolio makes the muddle in her mind even worse by leaning forward and swiping a streak of tomato sauce off the corner of her mouth.

“I think your lips look insanely kissable, and it's not just because there's some pizza sauce left on them.”

Despite the sudden flutter in her stomach, Rosaline has to laugh again (the second time tonight, her mind notes with a hint of worry).

“What is it with you and the...”

She doesn't get to finish, because he leans forward and kisses her, thorough and with intent, and it feels like another compliment, wordless but no less flattering because of it. She lets herself fall into it, her own pizza forgotten on the little bistro table before them, snakes her arms around his neck and lets him close his arms around her waist. She doesn't care that her pizza is most certainly getting cold in the chilly night air because she's not cold at all, her whole body gradually consumed by the fire he's slowly stoking inside her. She ignores the way the brick wall behind her digs into her back when he crowds her against it, or the fact that in her purse, her phone is vibrating with an incoming call, or the risk of falling off that bench any moment now...

“Ey, what do you think you're doing? Go get a room, you're scaring off our customers.”

The harsh voice of the pizza vendor startles them apart and to their feet, but while Rosaline remains a little dazed for a moment, Benvolio seems quicker at making sense of the pizza baker's enraged grimace. He grabs Rosaline's hand and pulls her away, only taking a moment to yell “Sorry” over his shoulder at the man still grumbling behind them.

They've rushed completely out of sight of the pizza place by the time Rosaline notices that it's definitely getting cold now, without the warmth of the place's patio heater (and, more effectively, Benvolio's body pressed against her). She shivers before she can suppress it, and of course he notices.

“Shit, we've been sitting outside for a while, and you're really not dressed for that.”

“I'll be fine. It's not that cold tonight.”

“Still,” he protests, expression still worried and serious, “we better get you home to warm up.”

Luckily, they're not all that far from her apartment, and a brisk walk takes them both there. Benvolio insists on giving her his scarf and pulling her tightly into his side with his arm around her shoulder the whole time, and she doesn't protest in the slightest because, as she reminds herself, the fact that he feels inclined to chivalry around her is a good thing even if she'll have to destroy that chivalry over the following days. (There's also the fact that she hasn't walked home with someone's arm around her in some time; someone who's determined to make sure she gets home safely but doesn't let that determination stop him from pausing ever so often to ask if she's still okay walking, and to steal a kiss and smile and joke and turn something as simple as walking home into an adventure unto itself.)

Despite his many ways of distracting her, Rosaline manages to formulate a plan for how to proceed, and to stick to that plan as well once they reach her apartment building: She stops in her doorway, key in hand, and bites her lip as she looks at him. The Plan here stipulates that she is to make him want her even more by forcing him to wait, but right now, it's not _him_ who seems more impatient.

While Rosaline is still battling with her own conscience on whether or not she should take him upstairs and continue right where they left off, Benvolio takes both her key and the decision out of her hands. He unlocks the door, presses one more soft kiss to her lips, and then takes a few decided steps backward.

“No need to decide if you want me to come back upstairs or wait and take things slow: I wouldn't come up anyway.”

“Why?”, she blurts out, sounding embarrassingly like she's pouting.

“Because I meant it when I said I don't want this to be a one-night-stand, and I want you to believe me. And I really, _really_ want to see you again.”

Pleasure flushes warm through her, and she has trouble telling herself it's just because she got one step further to her goal.

“You do, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Okay then.” Now it's her leaning forward for one last kiss, and definitely a last one this time. “You'll see me again. Call me tomorrow.”

“Oh, I will.”

With a smile, Rosaline walks back inside, closes the door behind her, and feels that same smile twist into a triumphant smirk.

She's got her guy – time to lose him.

She chooses to ignore the unpleasant little twinge that thought sends through her, and reminds herself to think of her sister, and the threat of internet fame hanging over her head.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it a good idea to post this chapter at 4.00am on Christmas? No, probably not.  
> Am I doing it anyway? Yes, because I can never resist the opportunit to post, and I love this fic.  
> Merry Christmas!

 

For the first time in possibly months, Benvolio wakes up in a good mood. The last few months didn't really give him much opportunity to be so unabashedly positive, with lots of work on things he doesn't particularly enjoy, and very little recognition in return. But last night… last night his luck seems to have turned, and in such wondrous and surprising ways that he's still not done trying to make sense of it. 

Of course, at first it looked like the night would just be one more in a series of recent defeats: When Mercutio and Romeo challenged him to prove his own claim that he could make any woman fall in love with him (a belief that, since Stella broke up with him, has admittedly been shaken a little), he thought the idea was silly and perhaps a little mean. Then his aunt Tessa floated by, no doubt on the prowl for husband number four, and made it impossible for him to back down. And then she managed to commandeer the whole project and pick the one woman he thought he could never win over. But of course at this point simply giving up was not an option - and for some reason, he didn't immediately strike out. 

He's been pondering it for large parts of last night, but he simply has no idea what could have moved Rosaline Capulet to talk to him. She certainly never seemed inclined to do so before - all of their infrequent interactions ended with some sort of scathing retort from her, and the attempt to at least retreat with dignity from him. To be fair, most of those interactions started with him making some half-baked joke - but that's just the strategy he falls back on around intimidating women. And she definitely is that: whip-smart and ambitious (because his aunt wouldn't have taken her under her wing if she wasn't) and unwilling to put up with anyone's bullshit, even if it's someone from the Montague family's inner circle. Which is refreshing too, because as much as he likes to be cocky about his popularity with the ladies, he's well aware that some of them aren't drawn to him personally so much as his powerful name. There is a chance she's one of them, of course - but the idea bugs him more than he expected, and Benvolio quickly decides to rule out that particular possibility. 

The thing he holds on to is this: she talked to him. She took the drink he brought her and accepted his compliments and let him kiss her, and that means first and foremost one thing: he now has a shot at this whole stupid bet when clearly, his aunt meant to set him up to fail - a familiar experience but one that never quite stops hurting. He sometimes feels as if he never does anything else but battle everyone's low expectations of him (which are partly deserved, he admits), and recently, he's been feeling his motivation to do so wane. It doesn't help that he's currently stuck writing obituaries, which doesn't leave much room for awe-inspiring creative leaps. He's been telling himself that staying involved in Montague Publishing is the only way he can perhaps one day achieve his dream of starting his own magazine, and just when he was beginning to doubt that was ever going to happen, his aunt came and dangled the possibility before him once more: she'll help him get funding and his uncle's okay for a first edition if he wins their little bet. And as much as he finds the whole thing, and the idea of involving an innocent bystander, more than a little skeevy  - he just couldn't say no. 

And after all, he assures himself somewhat unconvincingly, she doesn't need to get hurt. After all, he's not supposed to ask her to marry him or anything: his aunt's rules stipulates that he has to get her chosen target to agree to come to the annual shareholders' gala as his date, and there appear noticeably smitten. This didn't seem like much of a challenge, because what woman would say no to a date taking place at a gala? When she picked Rosaline Capulet, however, that goal suddenly became a whole lot harder because a) everyone at Montague Publishing knows what a snoozefest the gala is, and b) she'd have to be very smitten indeed if she agreed to publically appear with him at a company event, knowing the kind of gossip it will cause - and gossip which, he's fairly sure, will not be favorable towards her. 

Still, he tells himself with persistent cheer and newly found optimism, he'll somehow manage to get her there and make sure she doesn't get hurt in the process, professionally or emotionally. He'll just have to make sure to let her down gently when the whole thing is over - presuming she'll even get that invested in the first place. For all their flirting and the honest glimpes of her she let him see last night, he got the impression that she's a very guarded person  - but perhaps that was just personal dislike, which he thinks he did a reasonable job of dispelling. At the end of the night, she did seem at least a little bit charmed. She even smiled several times, a sight that definitely has the potential to be highly addictive. If nothing else, he can try and make her smile some more, and see where that gets him. 

That decision made, he texts her to ask if she wants to meet later in the afternoon. 

She makes him wait just long enough to become worried before she texts yes, but yes it is, and when he arrives at work half an hour later, Benvolio is still smiling to himself. 

Things are looking up, Benvolio thinks - and no matter what happens with the bet in the end, he's looking at nine more days to find out more things about the fascinating Miss Capulet. 

***

 

When Benvolio texts her the next morning and asks if she wants to meet again, Rosaline waits just long enough to make sure he's getting a little antsy before saying yes. 

The plan she worked out with Livia and Juliet before heading to the bar last night will have her alternately be clingy, jealous, and overly demanding - but for their first date at least, Rosaline decides to play it cool, make sure he doesn't lose interest again before she can get to work driving him off.

He suggests they meet at a downtown art museum that same evening for the opening of a new exhibition, which surprises her a little - she hadn't thought he'd be into art. Then again, taking a date to a museum is probably a tip from some sort of fuckboy-playbook - standing out from the competition, showing a little intellectual depth. Under normal circumstances, she would have considered it a very good place for a first proper date. 

Unfortunately, these are not normal circumstances, and she's not supposed to try and enjoy this like a real date. Although perhaps she should hold off on terrorizing him for at least a little while - after all, she can't really claim to have driven him off when she never even had his interest for longer than one evening, right? 

So, one good date, and then she'll absolutely get to work.

When she sees him in the museum's lobby, smiling and holding two cups of coffee (which is considerate, because she came straight from work and could use a little pick-me-up), she feels that it was the right decision, though she doesn't want to touch on why that is. 

"First the drink, and now you presume to know how I like my coffee?" 

"I was right about the drink, wasn't I? But today, I'm playing it safe: I brought two different coffee options - one black, no sugar; one with both cream and sugar." He holds them both out. "Have your pick - milk and sugar is the one on your right." 

She picks the other one, and he grins. 

"Figures." 

"Is this where you make a joke about my soul?" 

"Nope." He pops the "p" playfully. "You just seem like the kind of person who would take caffeine intravenously if it was possible. Busy and efficient, and not to be slowed down by something as trivial as coffee sweetener." 

"You sure are reading a lot into my coffee habits." 

He shrugs. "You work for my aunt. I'm guessing you don't get too much sleep." 

Rosaline almost drops the coffee cup on the museum's marble floor. 

His aunt. 

Her boss is his _aunt_. Her _boss_ , who knows what she's planning here. Who probably won't be too happy to see her nephew caught up in her little experiment. 

Shit. 

Shit shit _shit_. 

How the hell did she not make that connection last night? She literally calls him by his last name all the time, and she didn't think it would be a problem that her own boss shares that last name? 

But she didn't think much at all when she picked him last night. He was there. He was already hitting on her. He's no doubt caused his share of broken hearts, and will also no doubt move on from this none the worse for wear, with her name nothing but another notch in his bedpost. 

And, she knows though she tries to forget about it: the way he was smiling at her made her think that maybe putting up with him for up to ten days wouldn't be as horrible as she had first thought. 

But of course, that is out of the question now. She's going to go to Tessa tomorrow morning, tell her about the mix-up and ask for an extension on her ten days. 

Which means she should call this off right now, wish him a nice evening, and let him get on with his life. 

Except, wouldn't that look suspicious? Why go through the trouble of meeting him only to take off again after they've done nothing but talk about her coffee preferences? 

No, it's better to just see this through with dignity. 

"So, does your cultural knowledge begin and end with the address of this place, or do you actually know anything about the art here?" 

He smirks. 

"Why don't you try me?" 

"Alright. What's so special about that exhibition we're going to?" 

It's a challenge, but judging by his glittering eyes, his animated explanations when he begins to lead her through the spacious exhibition rooms, it's a challenge he's happy to accept. And he really does step up, providing background information and impressively substantiated judgments on the pieces. Granted, that is stuff he could have theoretically picked up from the invitation, or by getting here early and taking a look at the exhibit's catalogue. But the passion with which he presents it, the genuine respect for the art (and occasional disdain when he dislikes a piece), those are real. And frankly, they don't really fit in with what she thought she knew about him - a thought which Rosaline, never particularly adept at diplomacy, promptly voices.

"I have to say, I'm kind of surprised that you're so into this stuff."

"Yeah? What did you think I was interested in?"

To be honest, she's never really thought much about what he might be interested in - and her vague expectations, she realises now, belong right with the same rich boy-cliché he rightfully called her out for last night. 

"I don't know. Cars. Sports. Expensive drinks. Aspiring models."

He laughs out loud, apparently not insulted in the least this time, which she's reluctantly relieved about.

"Again with the clichés, Capulet. We're going to have to do something to change your mind about me." He's lowered his voice again, and only when she can still understand him perfectly does she realize that she's been leaning closer without meaning to. "Clearly, I'm not the only one who doesn't know as much as they think."

She swallows, throat suddenly feeling dry and her head getting a little woozy at the sudden nearness, because she still remembers all too well what that neaness led to last night.

But today, she needs to be on her guard, and that means no letting him catch her off-balance.

She slips away from him, ambling further down the oblong gallery and making him catch up, which he does with just a few long steps.

"So, art, huh? You really are interested in that."

"Well, art pieces are actually great investment objects..."

He catches the incredulous look she shoots him and laughs again.

"I'm kidding! Seriously though, sports, cars, and women? You don't really believe in the outdated gender roles _Glam!_ magazine keeps peddling, do you?" 

She wants to protest, but, to be honest, he's not entirely wrong in his view of her workplace. Rosaline herself has despaired more than once about the narrow range of subjects and worldviews deemed suitable for women at a magazine purporting to want to help them. Still, it's one thing to rant about Glam!'s billionth **_"How to Make a Man Propose With These 35 Amazing Blowjob Techniques"_** -headline, and quite another to hear that criticism from someone else, and someone who's made it to the lofty heights of the upper floors no less, where they trade in actual journalism with an intellectual depth and political relevance she can only dream of.

"Right, because all women's magazines are silly and outdated."

"That's not what I'm saying. I'm just saying, sometimes... they're a little reductive. Like, by all means, stick with the sex tips and the fashion updates, but maybe mix it up with some new perspectives every once in a while? Because I at least like to think I'm not as much of a caveman as _Glam!-_ readers are made to expect."

The most infuriating thing about this conversation is that he's right, about all of it, and that she fully agrees.

"You think I haven't tried that? Trust me, I have plenty of ideas on how to "mix it up" for our readers. And I try to sneak them in as often as I can - stories about health and financial security and professional advancement that will actually be useful to our readers. But at the end of the day, it's the beauty tips that pair well with our advertisers' wishes, and without advertisers, there's no _Glam!_ And if you're asking me to go up against your aunt on _that_ front, you'd better be prepared to pay my rent next month."

He studies her for a moment while Rosaline becomes aware of how riled up she's gotten while making her argument, breath quickening and face flushing - but just before she can feel embarrassed about that, he grimaces, smiles self-deprecatingly, and says:

"Guess I'm the judgy one now, huh?"

"A little, yeah."

"I'm sorry. Really." Another measuring look. "But if you feel like you can't really write about the things you want to, then why stay at _Glam!_?"

It's another sore spot, the fact that she's writing for a publication that stands for so many things she's principally opposed to - in theory. In practice, things are a little more complicated.

"Because it pays the bills, and many of the magazines doing the kind of stuff I want to write about... don't. Believe me, I've tried living off freelance pieces about women's issues, and it's not fun."

He nods understandingly. "I bet it's not."

Rosaline doesn't really know what to say to that - she was just getting fired up for a long and unpleasant discussion, and having him back down so easily kind of takes the wind out of her sails.

Benvolio saves her from having to come up with a reply by changing the topic herself.

"Alright, that was a lot for a first date. How about we get out of here and have somethig to drink instead of yelling about _Glam!_ 's editorial choices?"

"Gladly!"

They head to a nearby bar for a glass of wine, but despite his suggestion for a change of topic, they still spend the rest of the evening discussing the current problems of the pblishing industry in general and Montague Publishing in particular, and Rosaline has to admit he knows his stuff well enough that she isn't tempted to just credit it all to being practically raised at the Montague offices - he seems to genuinely care about the industry while questioning a lot of its current developments, and Rosaline finds that she likes hearing his ideas even when she's not agreeing with all of them.

Which is how, by the time they get kicked out the bar, an evening that should have stopped about ten minutes in has flown by over the span of several hours, and out of nowhere Rosaline finds herself feeling a little regretful that her little experiment is at an end already - or, at least that she'll have to let go of the Montague in favor of another guinea pig. She's about to begin debating the necessity of this step with herself when her phone dings with a message from Tessa.

It comes just in time to remind her that, even if she's still smiling minutes after she's said goodbye and closed the door on Benvolio, even if the evening raced by and she had fun looking at art and debating their work, there's no way she's going to risk pissing off Tessa for him.

Which means that tomorrow, Rosaline is going to to have to say the one thing one should never, ever say to Tessa Montague: "I need an extension on my deadline."

And this, she _does_ blame Benvolio Montague for: If he hadn't appeared by her table with his stupid smile and her favorite drink and the way he says her name, like a challenge she can't say no to, then she would have picked some other poor guy and none of this would be a problem. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally got back into this story! I rewatched the movie again for ideas, but I'll try to switch it up a little to adapt it to their characters, so we'll see how that works.  
> Also, all I know about boxing comes from a quick google search and watching the Mayweather/Pacquiao fight. Accuracy is not a high priority here.

"I need an extension."

It takes all of Rosaline's courage to force out the words, and even more to keep talking after Tessa lifts her head and practically skewers her with her eyes. "For the video?", she adds as if that wasn't sufficiently clear, then pushes on. "I made a mistake picking my guy.”

"What's wrong with my nephew?", Tessa replies, cool as a cucumber.

"Your… you _knew_?"

"Of course I knew. I was at the bar too. In fact, I saw you leave together, so I assumed you had no trouble picking a guy at all. So what happened?"

"Well… he's your _nephew_."

Tessa looks at her blankly, not giving away anything that might help Rosaline to evaluate the situation.

"I assumed you didn't want him to get dragged into this."

" _Benvolio_? Oh please, he's an irredeemable playboy. He'll be fine, no need to worry." She smiles coldly. "Who knows, maybe this whole thing will teach him a lesson about respecting women."

Rosaline can't quite believe what she's hearing – and neither can she stop the unease crawling up her spine.

"Are you sure?"

"Do you want to start all over again with a new guy? Because like I told you, I want that video at the board meeting, and I'm not pushing that meeting to accommodate your sensibilities."

Looking back, Rosaline knows this is the moment she should have said something, should have stepped down from the assignment. But she thought about Livia, bawling her eyes out for all the internet to see and comment on - and if there's a choice to be made between protecting her sister or someone else, she'll always choose her sister.

Besides, if even Benvolio's own family thinks he can handle being her guinea pig, it has to be okay, right?

She shoves away the thought that family doesn't always mean people have your best interests at heart, returns to her desk, and calls him.

***

 

In accordance with Juliet's advice to "really go big this time", Rosaline has planned something special – a date so perfect, it's going to hurt all the more when she ruins it.

Benvolio may have (rightfully) resented her clichéd assumptions about things he may be interested in, but over the course of their evening she did find out about a few of his interests, and one of them gives her an idea. Because Benvolio mentioned wanting to watch a boxing match on TV the following day, supposedly the biggest fight of the year – and it just so happens that her uncle's company is sponsoring the event. With a little help from Juliet, she manages to get ringside tickets, and so Rosaline finds herself in the strange position of taking a man out on a great date with the sole intention of driving him away.

And that her choice was the right one becomes apparent as soon as they get out of the cab at the venue and Benvolio realises where they're going. The moment he reads the big letters above the entrance, Benvolio stops dead in his tracks to stare at her.

"You're kidding."

Rosaline shakes her head mischievously.

"Nope. You said you wanted to see the match, didn't you?"

"That I did." Benvolio's face splits into a grin, lit up with boyish excitement, and Rosaline feels downright nauseous at the thought of destroying that excitement. "I might just have to marry you."

"Technically, my uncle's the one who got us the tickets. Maybe you should marry him."

Still smiling brightly, Benvolio takes her hand and pulls her into his space. It's a good idea to make sure they don't get separated in the crowd near the doors, but so far Benvolio isn't even moving there, so Rosaline has to suspect it's just a pretext to getting closer - not that she minds.

"I don't know - ringside tickets aside, I have a feeling marrying you would be the better deal, all things considered."

His voice is perfectly innocent, but the way he looks at her is anything but, and Rosaline swallows hard, her stomach fluttering at the heat in his eyes. Slowly, almost without noticing, she leans into him until they're almost chest-to-chest… and Benvolio draws back, turns, and starts to march towards the entrance, pulling her along.

His enthusiasm does not wane: He somehow manages to equip both of them with an array of snacks and merchandise before they even reach their seats, then launches immediately into an extensive explanation of the rules (which Rosaline didn't even knew existed in this sport). Frankly, he's adorable, and she thinks she could listen to his passionate lecture for hours.

Except, she remembers, she isn't here for fun. (And isn't that just the most depressing approach to a date ever?) So Rosaline forces herself to look increasingly more bored, and finally to yawn widely, twice in quick succession.

The second time, Benvolio notices, and his face falls.

"I'm boring you."

"No, of course not!" Rosaline's protest is overly eager and not even a little bit believable. "I'm just tired from work." Another poorly delivered lie – but one that gives her an idea. "Maybe some coffee would help," she says innocently.

"Yes, great idea! Let's get some coffee later!"

"Oh, I meant now… so I can actually enjoy watching the fight."

"Now?" Benvolio's eyes flit over to the big digital clock hanging above the ring. "It starts in two minutes."

"Well, then there won't be much to see for at least another five, right?" Benvolio looks less than enthused, and Rosaline pushes her bottom lip out into a slight pout. "Please? I'd go myself, but I'm sure I would get totally lost on the way back to our seats."

She wouldn't, of course - she's not a total imbecile. But Benvolio gets to his feet, smiling through gritted teeth.

"We can't have that, can we? Black, no sugar?"

He remembered her coffee preference correctly, but of course that would be way too easy.

"Oh, not today." She pretends to think very hard, remembering that the coffee stand in the foyer was a Starbucks. "How about a tall, decaf, iced, sugar-free, vanilla latte with soy milk and two extra espresso shots?“

He nods along, trying to memorise her insane order, until its true ridiculousness begins to dawn on him. “ _Decaf_ ?“

“Yes. With two extra shots for the caffeine.“

“Why not just take regular coffee?“

“Because it tastes different.“ She says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

“It....“ he stops himself, just short of what Rosaline is sure would have been a less than polite remark. “If you say so.“

Benvolio's smile is beginning to look painful, skin stretched too tight in his effort to keep it up.

"One tall, decaf, iced, sugar-free, vanilla latte with soy milk and two extra shots, coming right up. If I can remember all of that."

"I'm sure you will, babe." Rosaline sounds so patronising the guy sitting next to her snorts.

"Yeah babe," he adds sarcastically. "You can do it!"

Benvolio ignores the taunt and sets off towards the exit.

Not a minute later, the action really begins to pick up: the fighters enter the ring with much pomp and fanfare. The announcer rattles off a bunch of statistics Rosaline doesn't understand, some banter is exchanged, and then a bell rings to announce the start of the fight.

Benvolio only returns after significantly longer than the five minutes she predicted, and his face falls when he sees on the board that he apparently already missed the first two rounds.

Rosaline takes one sip of her coffee, makes a face, and holds the cup out in Benvolio's direction with an affronted expression.

"This isn't soy milk!"

Unfortunately, in that very moment, the boxer Benvolio is rooting for lands a hit, he jumps to his feet, and the cup is upended, splashing all over his shirt and the front of his jeans. Benvolio yelps in shock, and the annoying guy next to them chortles in amusement.

"Oh no, Benny-babe! I'm so sorry, are you okay?" Rosaline's voice is sickly sweet, high-pitched and childish, and she can feel herself dying a little with shame.

Drenched in iced coffee and thoroughly distracted from what must be at least the third round now, Benvolio still tries to remain calm and casual.

“It's no big deal, don't worry about it – at least it wasn't hot coffee, right?”

His grin looks like it costs him so much effort, Rosaline feels exhausted just from looking at him. He really is holding out admirably, trying not to make a scene while she's doing the opposite: She covers him in several tissues and starts sort of awkwardly wiping and patting him down with them flimsy paper. The effort is as awkward as it is ineffectual, and Benvolio soon seems to realize. He grabs her hands, now nearing the zipper of his jeans, and holds them still.

“I think that's enough. It'll dry.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” He's still holding her hands, pushing them away gently but determinedly. “Let's just watch the fight, okay?”

She agrees and leans back into her chair. The fight is on round 5 now, which means they've missed a good third of it already. She'll let him have a quick breather before she starts torturing him again.

For a good two rounds, Rosaline simply watches the fight, taking note of the training and skill that must go into it. Even for someone as clueless as her, the fight is an entertaining spectacle - but of course, she can't let Benvolio know that. “Reject his interests” was on her list of mistakes to make, and although Rosaline is not a fan of telling women to pretend to be interested in their partner's hobbies just to please them, she doesn't think tearing them down is a great approach either.

But she has her assignment, and if she wants to complete it, she has to stick to the list.

She leans over, catching Benvolio's attention with a hand on his arm, and he smiles at her distractedly before he returns his attention to the ring.

“I can't believe you enjoy this,” she says, not even attempting to keep her voice down. “It's so... _violent_.”

“Well, it _is_ a martial art.”

“Oh, I'm fine with martial arts – karate and stuff, you know - lots of kicking and screaming and backflips. But this is just _boring_.”

Benvolio clearly doesn't know what to say to that.

“I'm... sorry you're not having fun.” He points to the digital display above the ring, which alternates between showing the time, fight statistics, and various sponsors' logos. “But it's only four more rounds to go. You think you can hold out that long?”

Pouting a little, Rosaline nods. “If it's that important to you.”

Benvolio squeezes her hand, distracted when one of the fighters makes what seems to be a fairly bold offensive move.

“I promise, we'll do something _you_ enjoy after, okay? Whatever you want.”

Pout still in place, Rosaline sighs and leans back into her chair, taking out her phone. She checks her messages, then snaps a few selfies – throwing herself into ever more ridiculous poses and continuously bumping into Benvolio, who otherwise wouldn't even notice her antics. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to bother him very much, or maybe he's just determined to enjoy the fight. But by now, Rosaline is getting into a competitive spirit herself, and she's determined to ruin this date no matter what.

The last round is about to begin, and since the score is even so far, this one will decide which one of the men takes home the title. The moment the bell rings to start the round, Rosaline grasps Benvolio's arm again.

“I'm feeling nauseous.”

It takes him a moment to react, as her words are blurred out by a loud cheer from the crowd, and Rosaline repeats herself, louder and more urgently.

“I think I'm going to be sick.”

Now the words seem to sink in, and his eyes widen.

“What, _now_?”

“It's just so hot and loud in here, and this whole thing is so violent... I don't think I can handle it.”

Another bold move draws his attention back to the ring – although to his credit, Benvolio only gets distracted for a moment before he turns back to her.

“Do you think you can hold out for a little longer? We're on the last round. You've almost made it.”

Rosaline shakes her head, adapting a suffering expression.

“I don't think I can. I need to get some air, now.”

She gets to her feet abruptly, blocking the view for the people behind her and prompting several cries of protest.

“But if you don't want to come, I'll make it out myself.”

She sways a little in place, dramatically reaches out to steady herself on his shoulder, and Benvolio jumps to his feet with a guilty expression.

“Of course I'll come!”

Another round of protest from the row behind them, this time enforced by some very graphic threats of physical violence if they don't sit down again. Benvolio ignores them all and drapes her arm over his shoulder, steadying her with a hand on her waist.

“Come on, let's get you some fresh air.”

And with that, he leads her out to the lobby, only looking back once when they reach the exit and another roar goes through the crowd. But Rosaline stumbles and propels them both forward, and then they're outside in the lobby and the doors close behind them with one minute to spare.

Rosaline stifles a smug smile, feeling like a triumphant cartoon villain – and then realizing just a moment later that she might very well be one when Benvolio guides her outside and sets her down on one of the stone bollards dividing the entrance and sidewalk from the street, watching her with an expression that suggests he's worried she'll collapse on the spot.

“Are you okay? Getting better?”

She takes a few slow, deep breaths, overacting once more, and follows them up with the small smile of a bravely suffering heroine.

“Yes, slowly.”

Behind Benvolio, muffled roars and cheers erupt through the doors of the venue, indicating that the fight is over – and whoever won, it must have been spectacular. Something like pain flickers across Benvolio's face for a moment, then he pulls her to her feet and starts walking them to the row of cabs waiting a few steps down the sidewalk.

“Come on, let's get out of here before the crowd catches up with us.”

He opens the door and helps her into the backseat of the cab, and Rosaline is beginning to get irritated. Is nothing going to get that man to break? But maybe, she thinks when she sees him look back at the venue longingly before getting into the backseat beside her, maybe it won't take much more to push him over the edge.

"I can't believe you hesitated."

"About what?" Distracted as he is with closing the door and giving her address to the driver, Benvolio sounds casual, completely unsuspecting of the next wave of terror she's planning to unleash on him.

"About taking me home." She raises her voice, lays on another layer of reproach. "I was about to _faint_ , and you wanted to stay and watch the fight!"

In the rearview mirror, she sees the driver's eyes widen in horror.

"I... No... It just took me a moment to realize just how badly you were doing!“

Rosaline scoffs.

“Yes, because you were too distracted by the _fight_ to pay attention to _me_!”

“Can you blame me? I missed half of it because of your ridiculous coffee order!”

Yup, Rosaline thinks smugly, he is finally starting to crack. She only needs to push him a _little_ further, and he'll be ready to jump out of the moving cab to get away from her.

“Well, I'm sorry for _having needs_.”

But rather than make him finally blow up and call it quits, the words have an odd effect on him: Benvolio sort of freezes for a moment, then his expression softens and he reaches out to take her hand.

“I'm sorry. I didn't want to make you feel ignored.”

Rosaline almost wants to take him by the shoulders and shake him. Is he serious right now? How could she possibly feel _ignored_ after basically throwing a tantrum all evening?

“I guess I was a little too excited about getting to see that fight, huh?”

He reaches out to take her hand and she gives up on her attempt to somehow _win_ at being horrible and lets him, because he sounds so soft and so genuine and he really seems to think that _he's_ the one who did something wrong when she's been acting like an entitled brat all evening.

“I promise, I'll be all about you for the rest of the night, okay?” He drapes one arm around her shoulder and pulls her closer into his side. “So, what do you want to do?”

 _I want to turn back time and stop Valentina from ever recording my sister's breakdown so I can stop being an asshole to you_ , she thinks, but of course she can't tell him that.

Maybe she'll just have to call it quits for the day and start again tomorrow.

“I think I just want to go home and lie down.”

“You got it.”

And since she's a little exhausted from being horrible all evening, Rosaline doesn't say anything, all out of ideas for how to handle this impossible man. Instead, she relaxes into him, watches the city lights flash by outside, and tries not to notice how nice it feels to be tucked into him like this.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's been a while since I've updated this fic, but I'm sick and procrastinating today, so I went from "I have no idea what's going to happen this chapter" to banging out 5k words. Yay for procrastination!  
> Also, I know nothing about video games. Don't even know if there are games that would allow up to four players to play simultaneously. We'll just have to brush past those details.

“There's something wrong with the Capulet,” Benvolio announces pretty much as soon as he opens the door to let in Romeo and Mercutio for their weekly guy's night.

But if he had been hoping for sympathy from his best friend and his cousin, he's out of luck.

“You mean besides the fact that she's dating you?”

“Funny.”

Mercutio shrugs. “I thought so.” Then he seems to finally read Benvolio's expression correctly and understand the severity of the situation. "Alright, shoot. Wait, no, get us something to drink first, then shoot."

"Good call," Benvolio agrees, darting into the kitchen to get some beers for all of them.

Two minutes later, everyone's equipped with a cold beer, and Benvolio flops down on the sofa to tell his best friend and his cousin all about just how spectacularly bad things are going with the whole "make Rosaline fall in love with him"-plot.

"It's just that... Ever since the night of the match," he takes a moment of silence for the world-class fight he almost got to watch, and the amazing last-minute knock-out he missed, "she's been acting like a completely different person. The Rosaline Capulet I know is a smart, confident, sexy woman. The woman on our last two dates was a whiny, needy, volatile _nightmare_."

"Come on, she can't have been that bad," Romeo protests, ever the optimist.

"There was _baby talk_. She called me " _Benny-babe_ "." On either side of him, pained expressions are the reaction to this information. "And today, when we were ice-skating in Central Park-,"

"-a very cute idea," Romeo interjects, just to remind them it was his idea, the kind of romantic date just this side of cheesy.

"I know! And things were going great until she accused me of flirting with the woman at the skate rental stand."

"Were you?" The fact that Mercutio asks this in all seriousness is a little worrying.

"No! The woman was at least fifty, and clearly married to the Zamboni operator!"

Mercutio snorts in amusement.

"Also, I apparently called her fat."

Both of his listeners suck in a startled breath.

"I didn't! I asked if the hot chocolate was available with non-fat milk, because _she_ insisted on it, and then she started crying about how her boyfriend thinks she's fat and needs to diet. So apparently, not only am I her boyfriend now, but I'm a shit boyfriend."

Both Romeo and Mercutio are now not even trying to hold back their laughter.

"It's not funny!"

"No, of course not," Romeo says in an attempt to sound serious, at the same time as Mercutio replies:

"This is the funniest shit I've ever heard."

"Well, I'm glad you're enjoying yourself, because I'm having an existential crisis. I mean," a long draught of his beer, which is already half empty and will definitely be followed by a second one, "I'm a good listener, right? When a woman tells me what she wants, I listen, and I try to make it happen. But with her… everything I do seems to backfire. I just don't know what she wants!"

He leans back, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he breathes in deeply.

"Maybe I should just give up. Put an end to this ridiculous bet."

At least that would put an end to the guilt gnawing at him - because no matter what Benvolio tells himself about how he's not going to hurt her, the fact remains that "asking someone out for a bet" is an objectively terrible thing to do. He's watched his share of 90's teen rom-coms, he knows this is not going to go over well if it ever comes out.

"Come on, don't give up! You've worked too hard on the concept for your magazine - this is your chance to make it happen."

Benvolio sighs. That magazine has been a dream of his for so long he can't even remember when it started: an art magazine that's relevant and accessible even to people outside the usual Uptown art gallery-crowd of ultra-rich collectors, aspiring trophy wives, and art students who pilgrimage to every show opening but mostly to call the art "simplistic" and "obvious". But whenever he suggests the idea to his uncle or aunt, they insist that there's no market for such a magazine and brush him off, and he goes back to his obituaries.

But if his friends notice how downtrodden he looks, they valiantly refuse to acknowledge it.

"Besides, if she's calling you her boyfriend already, she'll definitely come to the gala with you."

"I'm not even sure taking her there is a good idea in the first place - who knows what will set her off then."

Mercutio gets up to get him a fresh beer, and Benvolio takes it gratefully.

"Besides, that's not even the point. She's clearly going through some stuff. I don't want to hurt her on top of it."

He falls silent, glad that his friends are doing the same - they may be a lot sometimes, but they know when to give him space.

"It's just… those first two nights? She was _amazing_."

And she was, even stubborn and disdainful and scathingly sharp-tongued as she can sometimes be. A woman who demands to be taken seriously, and deserves to be too. Which makes it all the more jarring how she's acting now, because he always figured her for a pretty sensible and well-balanced woman, occasional bouts of irritation (at him, mostly) excluded. Sure, from the few times he met her he got the impression that she had a bit of a temper. But there's having a temper and there's throwing deranged tantrums for no discernible reason, and for their last two dates, she's been doing the latter.

"Maybe it's a Cool Girl-thing."

"A what?" Romeo's advice sounds like it needs a lot of context to be helpful.

"A Cool Girl, capital C, capital G - like in the movie. You know, a girl who acts like every guy's dream, fun and sexy and easy to be with, but in reality that's not what she's like at all. Maybe what you've been seeing is the real Rosaline Capulet."

It would be tempting as an explanation, but Benvolio can't bring himself to accept it. This… harpy he's been going out with for the past three days cannot possibly be the same woman who pulled him out of a crowded bar to get pizza, after a flirtatious verbal duel that only lasted minutes but that was still more stimulating than any actual date he's had recently. No, the Rosaline Capulet he approached that first night was something else entirely, all sultry smiles and carefree laughs and sly questions, and he was actually looking forward to trying to, for lack of a better word, _woo_ her for the next ten days. Was, however briefly, thinking of the potential of an eleventh day, and a twelfth and thirteenth too. That Rosaline Capulet was… bewitching.

Unfortunately, it seems she's not the woman he's currently dating.

"So what you're saying is she's only pretending to be a Cool Girl?"

Romeo nods.

"But then why drop the act now?"

"Maybe she feels confident enough around you now to show her true self?"

"I guess I should feel flattered then," Benvolio remarks sarcastically. But as neat as it is, the theory doesn't seem to want to fit - first and foremost because he can't bring himself to believe Rosaline Capulet would pretend to be anything else just to impress men. "I still don't believe that that's what's happening. I just don't know what to do about her."

But before Romeo or Mercutio can come up with any sort of advice, the doorbell rings - and Benvolio has barely managed to get to his feet when a familiar voice calls out down the hallway:

"Benny-babe? Are you home?"

***

 

She was going to let him have this, Rosaline had decided: One guys' night to get over their afternoon date at the park, which can only be described as "disastrous". But as soon as she told Livia and Juliet about that plan, it was scrapped.

"You can't let him have a guys' night!", Juliet had exclaimed. "That's like, Clingy Girlfriend 101."

Livia agreed, and now she's standing outside his door, holding a bag of "special supplies" and forcing her voice to an uncomfortably high, baby-ish pitch.  
  
"Benny-babe? Are you home?"

She doesn't wait for more than three seconds before she rings the doorbell again, certainly not long enough to allow him to actually get to the door.

"Sweetie? What's going on?"

Somewhere in the apartment, she hears muffled laughter that ends abruptly. Footsteps approach down the hallway and the door opens to reveal Benvolio, smiling warily.

She doesn't let him get a word in before she throws herself at him, causing him to stumble back and crash into a shoe rack.

"I've missed you!"

"We said goodbye two hours ago."

A correct and certainly reasonable observation - but Rosaline didn't come here to be reasonable.

Instead, she presses herself closer against him, leans in close and whispers seductively into his ear:

"Maybe I just can't get enough of you."

She breathes softly against the sensitive shell of his ear, laughs huskily, and feels his hands flex on her waist, where he instinctively reached out to steady her.

"And can you blame me?"

When she pulls back again, his eyes are dark and wide - clearly, she managed to overrun his irritation.

Then she laughs and steps away, jarringly quickly.

"Besides, I figured it was about time I got to meet your friends!" She prances on to the living-room, where his cousin and friend are draped across the sofa with noticeable nonchalance, pretending to play a video game that doesn't even seem to be fully set up yet.

To their credit, they both set aside their controllers and get to their feet when she enters, probably on instinct that comes from years of having this sort of etiquette drilled into them. After all, Romeo is the crown prince of Montague Publishing even if he hasn't actually joined the company yet, and Mercutio's family is practically New York royalty. They know their manners, even if their adventures are being whispered about up and down the Upper East Side. She's met them both, briefly, at some Montague Publishing event, and since she's one of the lower level grunt workers, the fact that Tessa introduced her at all was perceived as such a massive favor that Valentina pouted about it for days afterwards. Romeo and Mercutio both seem to have forgotten about this, however, because they both introduce themselves again now, mustering her with subtle but unmistakable curiosity.

“So, you're the girl Benny-boy won't shut up about.” For a moment, she thinks Mercutio is about to repeat the nickname she gave Benvolio yesterday, which would have confirmed that he hated it enough to mention it to his friends. But “Benny-boy” isn't a bad alternative either - she'll have to remember that.

“Oh, really now – he talks about me?”

Benvolio appears by her side, slinging an arm around her shoulders.

“Only good things. I told them you're one to watch out for at the company. And that you have great taste in drinks.”

Ugh, the man's charm is exhausting sometimes, Rosaline thinks, but rallies herself again to let out a shriek that makes all three men flinch in apparent pain. She squeezes his cheeks and begins peppering his face with exaggerated, smacking kisses.

“You're” _smack_ “the” _smack_ “absolute” _smack_ “cutest!”

They're the kind of kisses an overbearing mother would give her small child, or an elderly lady her spoiled lapdog. When she draws back again, still holding on to his cheeks, Benvolio looks less than flattered, and Romeo and Mercutio are looking on with flabbergasted expressions.

But just to make Benvolio even more confused, she leans in once more, this time for a proper kiss, and soon Benvolio's reluctance melts away when he realizes something's different. It only takes seconds for him to grasp her waist and pull her close, and Rosaline stifles a smirk. He may have a talent for making her mind go momentarily blank, but clearly, she's got some moves too.

She hears someone wolf-whistle, then Romeo clears his throat and asks pointedly if they'd like to be left alone, and Rosaline pulls back reluctantly – although it is probably for the best, because she's pretty much forgotten what the point of the kiss was in the first place.

When she steps away from him, Benvolio is wearing the same expression she saw earlier in the hallway, the same expression she saw on their first evening together and which has made her wonder, more than once, just how far she can go during this charade without crossing any lines into _actual_ villain territory – she has a feeling it's not nearly as far as she'd like to.

“Well, that was... something. Now can we go back to the game?” Romeo looks adorably grossed-out, which makes sense if he and Benvolio are as close as Benvolio mentioned at some point during their conversations. Apparently, with Benvolio losing his parents and living with his uncle, the two basically grew up like brothers – and Rosaline can imagine all too well how her sister would look if she shamelessly made out with a guy right before her.

“What are you playing?”, Rosaline strikes up a conversation, only to ruin the impression of genuine interest again: “I hope it's not one of those ghastly violent games that cause all the shootings.”

It's a ridiculous, unfounded opinion, but even though the expressions of all three men seem to say just that, they're all too polite to point it out.

“No, it's set in a fantasy world – it's a lot of strategy, going on quests, that sort of thing.”

“What, with like, witches and fairies and stuff?”

“There are different types of creatures you can choose your players from, yes...” Romeo explains while sitting down, patting the sofa next to him to indicate she should sit there as he picks up a controller and begins showing her a selection of characters from a menu. It's quite sweet, the way he tries to include her instead of making fun of her obvious ignorance (or pointing out that she's totally crashing their longstanding guys' night), and she wonders somewhat randomly if this is a trait he picked up from Benvolio over the years.

Mercutio sits down on her other side, which leaves Benvolio with the armchair by the sofa as his only seating choice, and Rosaline wonders how he feels about that – is he disappointed not to sit by her side, or relieved to catch a break from her erratic behavior? She kind of wishes it was the former.

Romeo continues to explain, and Rosaline half-listens while going through the strategies she brainstormed with Juliet and Livia once it was decided that she would crash Benvolio's boys' night. So far, she's landed a few hits, but hasn't done anything truly terrible. Juliet and Livia agreed that, when meeting a guy's friends, an obvious mistake would be to be rude and disinterested, and to convince him not to hang out with them anymore – but that strategy requires more time than she currently has on her hands. She settles on the polar opposite instead: Show _too much_ interest in them.

At least, she tries: With Romeo already sitting next to her and explaining things, it's easy to nod along with a bright smile, ask questions in that naive voice that seems to appeal so much to the male ego, and laugh a little too loud whenever he says anything that could be counted as a joke.

It takes a while for the others to catch on, because honestly, what kind of person would meet their date's cousin and immediately start flirting with them? But by the third time she's innocently laid a hand on Romeo's knee, she looks over to see Benvolio's expression – and drops her hand as if she'd burned it.

This was a _bad_ idea.

It seemed so easy in theory: Flirt with his friends, then act like nothing whatsoever was happening. But as one look at Benvolio's face suggests, it's not _nothing_ at all. He doesn't look angry, or even all that jealous – he simply looks defeated.

And she gets it: Family dynamics are complicated, and no matter how much one might love a sibling or a cousin, there's always someone who's going to compare them, and that kind of competition can wear you down. With a sister who's cute and tiny and adorable – all the things Rosaline is not – and a cousin who tends to focus everyone's attention on herself and who can get whatever she wants with a simple bat of her eyelashes, Rosaline has her fair share of insecurities – and if Benvolio has similar issues, laying her finger in that particular wound is more than a little mean.

“This is all very enlightening, but are we actually going to play tonight?” Mercutio eventually cuts them off, sharp enough to suggest that he too noticed something's off, and Rosaline is relieved. “No offense, Rosaline – you're welcome to play as well, if you'd like to.”

“Oh, I'm not into video games. I'll just watch.”

“Are you sure you won't be bored?” Benvolio asks, but it sounds rather perfunctory. This might be a good moment to be horrible again – but she still feels guilt clogging her throat over flirting with Romeo and what it seemed to do to Benvolio, and Rosaline only meekly shakes her head.

“I can always have a look around if I get bored, can't I?”

Benvolio doesn't seem all that crazy about that idea, but Mercutio has started the game, and his attention is already being captured by the screen.

“I'll give you a tour later, okay?” Then his eyes fall on the ipad on the table before them, which shows the online menu of a pizza place - the one she took Benvolio to the other night, she realizes with a stab of fondness. “We were going to order some pizza, do you want to do the honours?”

Rosaline nods – and then smiles as it hits her: This is an excellent opportunity to continue her mission without actually hurting anyone. Well, no more than necessary, at least.

While the guys are getting into their game, Rosaline takes the ipad and places an order – but it won't be pizza they'll be munching on later. And as for the munching that's already happening, that too is going to end now. Before her inner eye flashes a brief image of some Disney villain breaking into ominous laughter; a veritable Cruella de Vil of health food, as Rosaline snatches up the bag of chips Romeo was just reaching for.

She carries the bag off to what she assumes is the kitchen, then gets her giant bag from the hallway and pulls out a plastic container of daintily cut crudités.

“I've brought some yummy, healthy snacks.” She briefly wonders how far she can push this, then decides to go all in. Deciding to dial back her interactions with Romeo for the moment, she turns to Mercutio instead, dangling a piece of carrot in front of his face in a way that must be blocking his view of the screen. “Open up,” she singsongs, and while Mercutio looks less than tempted by her snack, he eventually bites into it – presumably just so she'll drop her hand and let him play in peace.

She repeats the motion with Romeo, once again making sure to keep the interaction as un-flirtatious as possible, before she makes her way over to Benvolio's armchair to hold out a quartered celery stick before him.

“Come on, Benny-babe, there's one for you too,” she leans close, blocking his view of the screen, to whisper in his ear: “After all, we have to keep your strength up.”

She doesn't say for what, exactly, but the tone of her voice is promising enough to suggest something good. Not that Benvolio picks up on it: like the others, he only takes the offered vegetable so he can return his attention to the game. But _unlike_ the others, he won't get away so easily.

As soon as he's taken the celery stick, she plops down on his lap, not hard enough to cause actual damage (she hopes) but hard enough to make him wince.

“What are you doing?”, he pushes out through gritted teeth, and Rosaline smiles innocently.

“I've missed you, sitting all the way over there.” She wiggles her hips against his crotch, and his eyes briefly squeeze shut. “I promise, I won't distract you.” Another little wiggle, followed by a kiss to the edge of his jaw that makes him shiver. “At least, not too much.”

Again, Benvolio reacts so smoothly Rosaline doesn't know whether to be impressed or disappointed: He curls his hand around her thigh, pretending to want to hold her more firmly against him – but in reality, he subtly shifts her so her weight is no longer resting right on his groin.

He still remains a little tense, and Rosaline wonders if he's still remembering her horrible misstep in trying to flirt with Romeo earlier. She curls her hand around the back of his neck, fingers gently scratching along the sensitive base of his scalp.

“I just don't want you to feel ignored,” she says quietly, repeating his apology from the night of the boxing match, and when he looks at her, her smile is real and apologetic, and he seems to get the message: He smiles back with genuine warmth and relaxes under her.

Then he presses a kiss to her jaw, almost in the same spot she kissed him just before, and Rosaline is suddenly squirming for different reasons.

“I'm pretty sure you're underestimating just how distracting you are.”

Rosaline forces herself to stop enjoying this so goddamn much and pouts instead.

“Are you saying you don't want me here?”

Her voice is rising, and Mercutio and Romeo glance over briefly and then both turn very pointedly back to looking at their game.

“I'm saying I'm definitely going to be losing this game.”

He closes his arms around her so that she's encircled by him, then manoeuvers her to lean against his shoulder and no longer block his view.

“And I'm ready to accept that – but you have to at least give me a fighting chance.”

She does, but only because she's fast running out of ideas – once again, Benvolio is proving to be much more resilient than expected. It doesn't exactly help that sitting on his lap may not have been the best spontaneous idea she ever had, because Rosaline is not typically very prone to sit on men's laps to snuggle, and it only takes her about a minute to feel thoroughly ridiculous. Sitting on your boyfriend's lap to watch him play video games with his friends may be a nice way to spend an evening when you're fourteen and there's nothing else going on, but for a grown woman, it feels just a little... unsatisfying.

Now, it's not the position itself she minds – Benvolio's arms around her are certainly a nice touch, and whenever there's a lull in the game, he lets go of his controller to give her leg a quick squeeze or run his hand up and down the outside of her thigh. But with two other people sitting right next to them, she can't really enjoy those little caresses. Soon, the task of trying not to relax too much, trying not to think about what _else_ they could do in that armchair if they were alone, and simultaneously reminding herself that she's an educated woman while she makes the occasional inane comment about the game, Rosaline is about ready to try a new strategy.

Luckily, that's when the doorbell rings, hopefully with the delivery of her earlier dinner order – and a chance to force things to escalate, and hope Benvolio will finally throw in the towel. This afternoon in the park, provoking a fight was an uphill battle against Benvolio's relentless _niceness_ , but it was good practice, and she's going to make use of that practice now.

Benvolio gently helps her to her feet and goes to open the door, returning after a short conversation with several decidedly not pizza-shaped boxes.

“What is _that_?” Mercutio asks suspiciously while Romeo saves the game.

“Dinner,” Rosaline exclaims, clapping her hands in childish excitement. (She mentally rolls her eyes to make up for it.)

“What kind of pizza comes in a soup container?”

“We're not having _pizza_ , silly,” Rosaline says and ruffles his hair, which looks like it took at least an hour and a lot of product to look as perfect as it did, and Mercutio's eyes flash dangerously. “I've ordered us something healthier. There's salads, soups, and kale smoothies for everyone.”

Romeo and Mercutio look like they're about to question the necessity of kale smoothies for a successful guys' night, but then both their eyes flicker over to Benvolio, standing out of sight behind Rosaline, and they both silently reach for a container. She guesses he must have issued some sort of nonverbal warning for them to be polite.

But politeness gets you only so far when you've expected cheesy crust pizza and get vegan health food instead, and neither of the men manages to display much enthusiasm when they start poking around their containers.

Rosaline suppresses a grin and adopts a crestfallen expression instead.

“You don't like it.”

“Of course we like it,” Romeo replies, bravely biting down on some piece of vegetable she can't even identify.

“It's just not pizza, is it.” Mercutio adds through gritted teeth, but follows his example and shoves a spoonful of brownish-green goo into his mouth – a carrot avocado soup that looked a lot more appetizing on the website. She has to admire their determination to be good wing-men and help their friend please his weird girlfriend.

“Of course it's not. Do you know what pizza _does_ to you?”

“It makes you happy?” Romeo adds, in a tone so careful it's clear he's not going to be any help in starting a fight.

Luckily, Benvolio gives her a perfect excuse. He's been determinedly sipping his kale and wheatgrass-smoothie, but now he looks at her questioningly.

“I have to admit, I'm a little confused – you introduced me to the best pizza in the city. Why are you suddenly so against it?”

Rosaline gasps theatrically. “I can't believe you'd use that against me. That pizza was a mistake! I was drunk, and I shouldn't have had it, and I haven't had solid food since then.”

All three men look appalled now, but Benvolio in particular seems way more uneasy than the subject should warrant.

“How drunk?” He asks quietly, and Rosaline realizes what he's thinking: That she was too drunk to be making out with him in the first place. She wants to assure him that that wasn't the case at all, that she was perfectly able to make decisions and he wasn't being a creep for kissing her. But she's so close to getting him to blow up – she can't get derailed now.

“Drunk enough to give in to a pizza craving just _once_ , okay? And I can't believe you're shaming me about it now, in front of your friends.”

“ _Shaming_ _you_? How am I shaming you by pointing out that, like any normal human being, you seemed to like pizza?”

It's a perfectly reasonable question, but Rosaline is in-character now, and for that particular character, the word “reasonable” doesn't exist.

“You know, I don't need this crap. I only wanted to do something nice for you and your friends! You're sitting here, drinking beer and eating garbage and playing those games that mess with your brain. I wanted to add something healthy to that toxic mix, and this is the thanks I get?”

Benvolio is visibly struggling to stay calm now.

“Look, I appreciate that you worry about my health, I really do. But you can't just do stuff without asking people if they want it, and then get angry when they don't. No one's saying you can't eat whatever green stuff you want. But you could have at least asked the guys if that's what they wanted too.”

“Well, maybe “the guys” should be a little more grateful that someone's taking care of them, and stop acting like whiny manbabies.” Yes, she cheers herself on, insulting his friends and family definitely won't go over well. And indeed, Benvolio's face is growing increasingly red, his voice nearly matching hers in volume now.

“ _Taking care_ of them? They're _grown men_ , Rosaline – they can damn well take care of themselves, and this psychotic helicopter-mom-thing is out of line.”

“ _Psychotic_?” Rosaline's voice is so shrill now that she sees Mercutio flinch. It's an apt description of the way she's acting now – and the perfect cue for her to get out. “If that is what you think of me, I don't think I have anything left to say.”

"Then I guess I don't have anything left to say either - not that you would listen!"

Yup, Rosaline decides, that counts as breaking up alright.

She sweeps out, luckily remembering to pick up her bag, and slams the door for dramatic effect. Behind her, she hears something fall down and shatter inside the apartment, possibly one of the picture frames she saw hanging there. She feels a little sorry about that, but in the long run, she's sure Benvolio will consider it a small price to pay to be finally rid of her.

For a moment, the idea that this is how he's going to think of her in the future – not as “the one who got away” but as a psychotic, whiny bullet he dodged – makes her a little sad. Makes her wonder, even, what could have grown between them if none of this had been necessary... But that kind of thinking is pointless, she reminds herself.

She started this thing with one goal in mind: To push him away. And now, she finally achieved that goal. The thought of getting that camera back from Tessa and knowing her sister safe in less than a week chases off the last of her wistful what-ifs and adds a spring to her step as she walks down the street, swinging her bag by her side.

She's almost at the corner of the block when she hears it:

“Rosaline, wait.” And again, louder and more insistent: “Capulet! For the love of God will you slow down and talk to me?”

Rosaline freezes.

This is _impossible_.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, let the horribleness continue!

This must be what going crazy feels like.

Standing in his living-room and looking at his shell-shocked best friend and cousin, Benvolio listens to the door slam after Rosaline, who just stormed out of his apartment. The loud bang is followed by the sound of something falling to the floor and smashing in the hallway, and he has no idea how he got to this point.

When he woke up this morning, he was looking forward to seeing Rosaline again in the afternoon - tentatively, yes, but still, he was determined to turn their third date into a success. Third time was going to be the charm, even if the night before didn't go great. He was so excited about the match that he barely paid attention to her, and when she rightfully snapped at him, he got annoyed. But he was going to make it up to her, and make sure that she'd actually want to stick around until the gala (or longer).

The afternoon in the park was a setback, and her erratic behavior and dramatic accusations made him a little reluctant to turn on the charm when she showed up at his place unannounced, but he was still going to try and make the evening a nice one. Was even temporarily enjoying himself when she draped herself over his lap to watch him play. As unexpected as that move was, it was definitely enjoyable to have her snuggled up against him, and to imagine what else he might do with her soft curves pressed against him… and then everything went incredibly, fantastically off the rails, and this time Benvolio is refusing to accept it as his fault alone.

Granted, he probably shouldn't have called her psychotic. But he was right in being a little annoyed at the way she was acting. Crashing their game night and then being ostensibly bored by the actual game - except for one flicker of interest that may or may not have been only about flirting with his cousin? Feeding them strips of vegetables like reluctant children? The whole drama about the food? None of that made him at all eager to suck up to her, or to stop her from walking out.

And now that she has, he feels almost relieved, even if his dream of his own magazine just walked out the door along with her. But maybe that's for the best - maybe chasing that dream on the back of someone else's feelings was just never worth it, and this is what he gets for attempting it in the first place.

But just when Benvolio is about to give up, his friend and cousin are not.

"Why are you just standing there? Go after her!" Mercutio motions to the hallway, as if suspecting that the only reason he's still here is that he forgot where the door is.

"After _this_?"

"So she's a little temperamental - who cares? You're not supposed to marry her."

Romeo nods in agreement. "I mean, she didn't pull a gun on us or anything. You can put up with this for a few more days."

Mercutio takes over again to grasp his shoulders. "You can still turn this around and get your magazine money."

And they're right, Benvolio thinks, he should at least _try_ and turn this around. Otherwise, what would have been the point of starting this mess in the first place?

But when he sprints out the door, it's not his magazine he's thinking about. Despite all the cover mock-ups, all the calculations and research and story pitches he's done in preparation, the thought of it still seems too abstract. But there's something else that seems a lot more tangible - and just as much worth fighting for. The memory of Rosaline the way she was on their first two evenings together: That's something real, something he wants to see again, even if it's starting to feel more and more unlikely that he will.

When he catches up with her on the street, his decision is made: He'll do whatever it takes to get her back - either just for the remaining days of his bet, or for a lot longer than that, if he can get through whatever the hell is causing her erratic behavior.

"Rosaline, wait!" He spots her just before she can turn the corner at the end of the block, but she either doesn't hear him or, more likely considering he's yelling at the top of his lungs, is pretending not to. "Capulet! For the love of God, will you slow down and talk to me?" 

Okay, so maybe his tone isn't exactly pacifying - but it does the trick: she stops practically mid-stride, and by the time she's slowly turned around, he's caught up to her with a quick jog. She doesn't look as angry as she did when she stormed out, in fact she looks confused more than anything else, and he takes that as a good sign.

"I'm sorry, alright?"

Her face closes off. "About what, exactly?"

"Everything that just went wrong," he replies, but it  doesn't seem to appease her much.

"You don't even know what it was, do you?"

"I'm guessing calling you psychotic didn't help much?"

But even accompanied with a self-deprecating smile, trying to turn the whole thing into a joke is not a good idea – Rosaline looks about ready to go off again, and he quickly raises his hands in a pacifying gesture.

"Look, I'm not gonna lie, I don't entirely understand what just happened. But I know what I said to you was horrible, and I'm sorry.”

She looks a little less like she's about to bash him over the head with that ridiculously big bag now, so Benvolio decides it's safe to step closer and take her hands.

“And I want to do whatever I can to make it up to you.” 

“Anything?”, she asks, innocent and a little hesitant, and that's when warning bells should go off in his head. But Benvolio, with an idiocy that can only be explained as an aftershock of the mindboggling drama he suffered through just now, walks right into her trap. 

“Anything.” 

“Well, I mean... if you were willing to talk to me about our issues...” 

Talking, yes – that he can do. _Wants_ to do, in fact, because he has a lot of questions for her too.

“Of course, let's talk!”

But his relief was premature: Rosaline is not finished making demands.

“...with a therapist.”

“A what now?”

“A therapist. A couples' therapist, to be precise.”

“Right.” She has got to be kidding, he thinks – there's no way she's seriously suggesting dealing with one evening off the way an _actual_ couple would treat a crisis in a longstanding relationship. But, it occurs to him now, there's no way she's going to find a couples' therapist that quickly anyway – so why not agree just to appease her now, and then work on making her forget all about this ridiculous idea over the next few days? 

Still holding on to her hands, he makes sure to look at her firmly, to project determination and earnestness – although he feels a little manipulative in doing so.

“Couples' therapy it is then.”

“Really?” 

Again there's that high-pitched, over-the-top, baby-ish voice that is so very un-Rosaline – but if it indicates that she's happy, he'll take it.

“Really,” he confirms. But for all the excitement in her voice, Rosaline still doesn't look entirely happy, and her slow smile seems rather melancholy. Oddly, it's in this small, quiet smile that he recognizes the Rosaline Capulet he's been sneaking glances at from a distance at his fair share of company events - confident, yes, but with a depth and vulnerability behind her straight-backed, sharp-tongued exterior that makes him want to know more about her.

Maybe talking really isn't the worst idea, even if Benvolio thinks they should probably try it without a professional to watch over them.

"So, are you coming upstairs again?" He isn't sure it's the best suggestion, but he doesn't exactly have a better strategy.

"No, I think I'll just head home. Let you get back to your guys' night."

She turns and starts walking away, only to stop again after a few places and turn back once more.

"I'll text you when I've found a therapist."

So she really wants to go through with that. Benvolio stifles a sigh. After all, he has a deadline, and who knows how much time it will take her to get an appointment? But there's no way around it now.

"Text me whenever you want," he offers instead, hoping she'll take him up on it.

She smiles again, a little less melancholy but still very much inscrutable, and turns away without another word.

Well, he has to give her that: at the very least, she keeps him on his toes.

***

 

“I can't believe you're really going to do this to him,” Isabella comments, carefully placing a silver tissue box in the middle of her immaculate coffee table. Reflected in the silver cube's shiny surface is a living-room that is somehow the perfect blend of elegant and cozy, grey and purple hues combining to create a soothing atmosphere. It's simply a sign of her friend's impeccable taste, but today, it will be the stage for a special show.

In hindsight, Rosaline isn't entirely sure how she managed to talk her usually so sensible friend into this charade – but apparently, she underestimated Isabella's mischievous side. (Or perhaps her mere passion for pissing off men.)

“I mean, I don't want you to be too mean – just nag him a little until he finally decides I'm not worth the hassle.”

It became clear to Rosaline pretty early on that, in order to get Isabella to help her with this weird idea, she'd have to tell her the truth. So she did, because their friendship stretches back far enough that there's very little Rosaline wouldn't tell Isabella – they've survived their share of ups and downs, including the fact that Isabella's brother was the first man Rosaline ever loved, and he thoroughly broke her heart. After talking her through the nights following that, there's really nothing else Isabella would shy away from helping her with – and today's mad plan is no exception.

“You do realise that there's a very good chance he'll decide that you are in fact worth the hassle, right? Because you absolutely are.” 

It's such a lovely thing to say, especially considering Isabella is not always the most open with her emotions, or the most generous with compliments. Impulsively, Rosaline leans over to give her friend a quick hug.

“You know, for someone who's trying to make everyone believe you're the baddest bitch around, you can be very sweet sometimes.”

“ _Trying_? Please, everyone _knows_ I'm the baddest bitch around,” Isabella jokes, then pulls back with a look at her slim golden wristwatch. “Now, you better go out to meet your troubled beau.”

Benvolio and her made plans to meet at a coffee shop around the corner of Isabella's house, so this is where Rosaline heads now.

She finds Benvolio already waiting for her, pacing up and down the sidewalk outside the coffee shop and looking decidedly nervous.

“Hey! You ready?”

“I'm fucking terrified,” he jokes, but his tense stance and the pacing she witnessed make it clear that there's a hint of truth behind it. Rosaline tells herself not to feel bad: She's not dragging him to the dentist for a root canal, she's letting her friend pester him about made-up issues for an hour (or less, if he quits before).

“But you're here,” she says, and it comes out a little too soft because honestly, now that she thinks about it, that is kind of amazing. It's certainly a lot more commitment than she'd ever have expected of him – or anyone, given that they've been dating for all of five days.

He leans in to kiss her cheek.

“I said I would be, didn't I?”

“Yeah,” she says, and draws back slower than she perhaps should, her eyes getting caught on his warm gaze. “You did.”

And to be honest, she has no idea why he actually stuck to that promise. When she called him this morning to tell him she got an appointment that same evening, he was so surprised that she suspected he'd been simply banking on her not finding a therapist at such short notice - which of course she didn't, but the poor guy doesn't know that. Still, he agreed to come to her therapist's "office" late in the afternoon, and Rosaline spent the day feverishly wondering what the hell else she's supposed to do to get rid of this superhumanly resilient man.

In the end, she distracted herself by getting started on her video diary, summarizing what she did so far and paying special attention to the stuff that made him irritated enough to almost drive him off.

Which isn't ideal, since her story isn't "How to _Almost_ Lose a Guy", but it's a start - and with Tessa breathing down her neck and Valentina asking every other day if she should start editing the footage of her sister yet, she definitely needs to get started on her video. Whatever Benvolio does, next week she's going to need to claim that she drove him off for good, even if so far, she still seems very far from achieving that.

No, Benvolio, while still nervous, seems determined to go through with this ridiculous therapy idea, even suggesting to skip the coffee and head straight to the therapist so they don't run out of time and arrive in a rush.

In order to keep up the appearance that this is an actual appointment with an actual therapist, Isabella makes them wait around in an improvised waiting-room in the hallway for another ten minutes. By the time she asks them into the living-room, Benvolio's nervousness is almost starting to infect Rosaline. Then she sees Isabella and has to stifle a laugh: Her friend has apparently decided that her role requires a costume, and meets them in a flowy silk kaftan, with big horn-rimmed glasses threatening to slide down her nose and a notepad in her hands. She even talks differently, in a slow, unctuous tone that seems designed to calm down nervous visitors but would really only annoy Rosaline if she had to pay 300 dollars an hour to listen to her.

Benvolio doesn't seem all that comfortable around her either, especially since Isabella immediately fixes him with a piercing stare. But he pulls himself together and bravely shakes her hand before sitting on the sofa Isabella steers them towards.

“Alright, let's do this.” He sounds even more nervous now, and Rosaline reaches out to give his hand a reassuring squeeze before she can stop herself.

Isabella sits down across from them, in a dining-room chair that is noticeably higher than their sofa seats and makes Rosaline feel a little dwarfed.

"Now, Benvolio, Rosaline has told me that your anger issues have become a problem..." as Rosaline expected, Isabella goes straight to the jugular, and Benvolio's jaw drops.

"My anger..." He looks offended for a moment, then his expression turns into one of shock – quickly followed by genuine concern. "Wait, is this about yesterday? I came across as _that_ angry?"

And suddenly, what seemed like a great plan in theory, just another way to annoy him into finally giving up on her, doesn't seem like such a great idea anymore. Benvolio looks so lost, and it seems she's about to drive him into thinking that he's somehow abusive when honestly, nothing could be further from the truth. They fought last night, yes – but they were fighting as equals, and she never felt threatened for a second. Making him seriously think that he did is beyond messed up.

"I mean, I didn't really feel threatened. I just thought that, with things like this, it's best to tackle them before they turn into a problem."

"And you are absolutely right," Isabella confirms, before turning towards Benvolio to pin him with another one of those piercing stares. "Now, Rosaline tells me you got very upset when she ordered health food instead of pizza the other night. Did that make you feel threatened in your masculinity?"

"No, of course not. The issue was..." Benvolio begins to explain, but Isabella doesn't let him.

"After all, only chicks eat salad and icky healthy stuff, right? _Real men_ have steaks and whiskey!"

She overemphasizes the “real men” part so hard that for a moment, Rosaline is afraid Benvolio is going to ask if she's just messing with him. Which, of course, would be exactly the right guess.

"Honestly, that is such bullshit! Why wouldn't we eat salad?"

"Well, you sure as hell didn't appreciate it when I _got_ you salad!" Rosaline interjects accusingly, and Isabella nods in agreement, head bobbing wildly. But Benvolio is having none of it.

"The problem wasn't the salad, it was that you pushed it on everyone without asking them, and then acted like they were ungrateful children when they weren't crazy about it."

"Well, if the shoe fits..."

"But it _doesn't_ fit! My friends are not ungrateful children for having a different opinion than you. And for Christ's sake, it's not like you were slaving over that salad yourself. It was a delivery order. They were perfectly right to say that they would have preferred something else. Like the  pizza I _asked_ you to order.”

He's visibly struggling to stay calm now – clearly, his friends and family are a red button she keeps pushing. The Rosaline who has less than a week left to gather material for her video should take note of this and use it in her favor. But what she actually thinks in that moment is that she likes that he's so protective of them – after all, Rosaline herself has a little sister and a cousin she feels like she has to protect and defend against any threat, perceived or real, and she understands the impulse all too well.

Of course, she can't let him know that. But Isabella, clearly filling out her assigned role with gusto, is already on the case.

“You _asked_ her to? So you think it's Rosaline's job to provide for food? Have you two discussed the fact that you want to live those very traditional, conservative role models in your relationship?”

Benvolio looks at Rosaline incredulously.

“Really, Rosaline? Again with the caveman clichés? I don't expect you to do a damn thing you don't want to do. But we were in the middle of a game and you seemed bored, so I figured you might like to choose our dinner. Clearly, that didn't work out too well.”

The last sentence is drenched in sarcasm, and Rosaline can practically see the cruel gleam in Isabella's eyes – a predator about to pounce.

“I'm sensing a lot of bitterness here, Benvolio. Do you often use this sort of passive-aggressive sarcasm when people don't act the way you wanted them to?”

But it seems Isabella underestimated him.

“Wait, so now all of a sudden I'm _passive_ -aggressive? I thought I was here because I'm aggressive. _Actively_.”

“There's no need to get angry now. No one here is threatening you.” Isabella's calming voice is tipping into patronizing now, and it doesn't fail to rile Benvolio up.

“I don't feel _threatened_! I feel annoyed because we're still talking about _me_ when it was Rosaline who was rude to my friends, even though they were perfectly welcoming when she crashed our guys' night.”

He's right, about all of it, and Rosaline is kind of impressed that he's still holding his ground against her and Isabella's combined attacks.

"See what I mean?” Rosaline turns to address Isabella, gesticulating wildly in Benvolio's direction. “Sometimes I get the feeling that he doesn't even want me in his life. Otherwise why would he not want me to meet his friends?" She gasps as if realising something. "You're ashamed of me, aren't you?"

"Why the hell would I be _ashamed_ of you? You're smart, beautiful, independent - anyone would be lucky to be with you!"

His angry voice is a jarring contrast to the words, but they still don't fail to have an impact on her.

Even Isabella seems impressed, which is a difficult feat indeed.

"So no, I am not _ashamed_ of you - but I sometimes get the impression that you're not entirely happy with yourself. Like, the fixation on food and dieting? The need for attention? I just don't know where these insecurities come from, and I don't know how to help you with them because every time they come up, we end up fighting."

Rosaline wants to bite back, make this situation escalate again so he finally gives up on her - but in this moment, she simply can't think of anything to say. The entire strategy behind her antics was for him to conclude that she's crazy, turn his back on her, and not look back. She did _not_ expect him to seriously wonder why she's acting like that, and even less to want to help her. None of the articles and stories and urban myths she's read and heard about selfish, heartless, immature men and their commitment-phobia and their ridiculous expectations of women ever mentioned that some men might not be like that. Some might be kind and genuine and empathetic, and she has no idea how to deal with that.

Luckily, Isabella comes to her rescue.

"Now, it's good that you mention insecurities. Tell me, do you think your aggression is a way to deal with your homoerotic urges?"

Now Rosaline has to stifle a sudden laugh. Isabella is having way too much fun with her part. What other pseudo-Freudian bullshit is she going to come up with next?

“My _homoerotic_... Look, I'm not gay.”

Yup, Rosaline thinks, Isabella definitely got him now.

But once again, Benvolio catches himself.

“I mean, I'm pretty sure I'm not. But even if I was, I wouldn't feel the need to yell at people to compensate.”

“Do you think you're overcompensating for something else then? A lack of male guidance in your life, perhaps?” Isabella is once again using her therapist voice, gratingly calm – but her words make Rosaline's blood freeze.

She didn't have time to properly prepare Isabella for this whole sham, and she's pretty sure she didn't mention anything about Benvolio losing his parents and being raised by his uncle, so Isabella is probably just fishing blindly for any popular Freudian triggers. But using _this_ against him? Rosaline has a bad feeling about it – and that bad feeling is promptly confirmed.

Benvolio turns pale and goes rigid beside her.

“I don't think... I mean, I guess in a way...” He breathes in deeply, shakes his head and then rocks forward in his seat and rolls up to his feet. “I'm sorry, Rosaline. I can't do this.”

Before either she or Isabella can say anything, he's stormed out of the apartment. Rosaline should probably be relieved that he walked out, and hope it means he walked out for good now – but knowing him, she isn't so sure about that anymore. What she _is_ sure about is that she just hurt him for no reason, and she's beginning to hate herself for it.

“Shit,” she murmurs as she clambers to her feet, Isabella watching in worry and bewilderment.

“I guess I touched on something I shouldn't have?”

“His parents died. He was raised by his uncle. I'm not sure how good their relationship is.”

Isabella looks stricken now.

“I had no idea. I just figured... you know, don't they all have issues with their fathers?”

“You couldn't have known. This is on me.” Which means it's on her to make it alright again.

Rosaline grabs her bag and her jacket and sprints out, hoping she'll catch up with Benvolio before he's completely out of sight.

She needn't have worried: She practically falls over him, sitting on the steps outside Isabella's brownstone, leaning forward with his arms propped in his knees, shoulders rising and falling as he takes deep, shaky breaths.

Rosaline considers throwing herself down the stairs - it still wouldn't be enough punishment for what she did, but it would be a start.

She sits down next to him, unsure what to do or say. She feels too much like a villain to be allowed to offer comfort - but then again, if she doesn't do it, who will?

Slowly, hands trembling, she reaches out to touch his shoulder, and Benvolio looks over at the contact as if he had only just noticed her presence - which he very well might have. He still looks pale, but his eyes are feverishly shiny.

And while she's still wondering what she could possibly say to apologise for this, he actually beats her to the apology.

“I really wanted to commit to doing this, open up to you and tackle whatever it is you feel needs work but... I can't. You couldn't have known, but my uncle and I… well, it's not exactly easy." He smiles bitterly. "I guess your therapist hit a nerve with the male guidance thing. And I know I should tackle it at some point but… I can't just open the lid on 20 years of issues at the drop of a hat. I'm sorry."

She shakes her head with such force she feels it in her teeth.

“You have _nothing_ to apologize for. I shouldn't have pushed you to do this."

So why did she? The question is so obvious, Rosaline doesn't wait for him to actually ask it. She can't tell him the real reason why, not after she worked so hard on her stupid assignment. But maybe she can find some sort of half-truth that will make him feel less like she attacked him for no reason - and perhaps that half-truth will make her look like enough of an asshole that he finally decides he's had enough of her. It will definitely be better for him, she thinks bitterly.

"I was just... overreacting last night. I didn't even think this would lead to anything – you just said you would do anything to make it up to me, and I wanted to make you prove it.”

He looks stunned for a moment - but while she still waits for him to get angry, a relieved smile blossoms on his face instead.

"So, it really wasn't about anger issues?"

Rosaline has to laugh, although there's half a choked sob in it because she just feels so, _so_ bad for what she put him through today.

"No, it wasn't. Honestly, you're an actual puppy, how could I ever feel scared of you?"

"A _puppy_?" He leans over, shoulder bumping teasingly into hers. "Careful, Capulet - apparently, my masculinity is very fragile."

She has to laugh again, incredibly relieved to hear him already joking about their disaster of a therapy session.

"So you're not mad I dragged you here?"

"Oh, I'm a little mad. Your therapist is a hack!" He leans closer, and his voice goes soft. "You're going to have to find some other way to fix me."

There's an invitation in his voice and his nearness that she's longging to give in to - but right now, she doesn't think she deserves to, after hurting him the way she did. And he definitely doesn't deserve to be her personal lab rat - but then, her sister doesn't deserve internet infamy either. Not for the first time, Rosaline feels herself despair over this mess of a situation, where it seems someone's going to end up hurt no matter what she does.

But maybe she can at least try and make up for some of it.

"I don't know - I think you don't need much fixing. You're pretty alright as you are."

" _Pretty alright?_ That's what I'm getting after all _this_?" The outrage in his voice is not quite enough to cancel the smile tugging at his lips. "You are truly a difficult woman to impress, Capulet."

"So you should feel all the more flattered then," she replies lightly, then gets to her feet and dusts herself off. "Come on, I'll buy you a drink."

And she'll _behave_ for the rest of the evening – he's definitely earned it.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically, this is only half a chapter, because I've had some stuff to deal with and wasn't in a good writing mood. But I'm hoping this chapter will get me back into this fic, so here it is.

Rosaline stays true to her promise of a drink and steers him into the nearest bar without fuss or detour, and Benvolio is relieved. He tried to push down all the issues her therapist raised when she brought up the subject of his “male guidance” and, by association, his father and uncle; tried to joke around with Rosaline and act like it's not a big deal until he's ready to believe it again. But somehow, his thoughts return to the issue again and again, and by the time they arrive at a pub down the block, he's about ready to down a drink or five.

The pub is kind of old and dingy-looking, not exactly a hot-spot, and it suits Benvolio's current mood just fine. Expensive cocktails and small talk at a fancy midtown bar are the last thing he's in the mood for now – but cheap beer and bad lighting to brood to? That he can handle. And after putting him through that nightmare of a therapy session, he doesn't even feel bad about ignoring Rosaline until he's well into his first glass of dark, bitter beer, even if she did apologize already, and seemed to mean it too.

But he should know that Rosaline Capulet is not one to be ignored.

That in itself is no surprise, of course. What surprises him is the way she gets his attention: quietly, and with genuine concern in her voice.

“I know it's not my place, far from it, and you don't need to feel like you have to but... if you want to talk about whatever it is we just dragged up, I'm here.” Her voice, he notices immediately, is its normal warm timbre; no hysteria, no baby-talk, no whining – just Rosaline, making a sincere offer to listen if he needs her to. “Or, if you prefer, I can get us another round and we can drink ourselves into oblivion.”

She holds his eyes as she makes the offer, calm and steady, but she doesn't give him more than a second to react before she already gets up and begins to walk towards the bar. Apparently, she has decided that he doesn't want to talk before he's even come to any kind of conclusion himself.

When she comes back, however, setting down a tray with two fresh beers and two shot glasses full of clear liquid, clearly intent on making good on her offer, he's made his decision.

“I choose drinking. But I could use someone to listen, too.” She looks surprised, pleasantly so, and he can't resist a little dig. “Even if they're not a professional therapist.”

The way she tilts her head in reply seems to say “point taken”, but she doesn't say anything else before reaching for one of the shot glasses and pushing the other one towards him. “Bottoms up then.”

The clear liquid turns out to be vodka, not his favorite, but enough for their purposes – and enough to topple over the last little bit of self-preservation instinct that's been stopping him from pouring out his heart the moment they first sat down. Now, everything that's been going through his head ever since he stormed out of her therapist's office just pours out: How her therapist, after asking nothing but questions that sounded more like a comedy movie's idea of how a therapist would speak, finally hit the nail on the head with the “male guidance” thing.

Because ever since his uncle took him in after his parents crashed their plane, he may not have wanted for anything material - but he never really got anything even resembling a replacement for his father, a warm, funny man who always had a smile and a joke for his son, and who tried to make time for him even when things were hectic at Montague Publishing. His uncle is... Nothing like that.

Damiano Montague never outright neglected his nephew, no, but he also never showed any particular interest in him unless it pertained to his grades (perfectly average, but lacking for an Ivy League-bound Montague, in Damiano's opinion), his romantic options (which, according to his uncle, were to be limited to their circle of acquaintances and prep school classmates, or even better, old moneyed Upper East Side families), or his interests (art, until his uncle made it clear in no uncertain terms that he'd only pay college tuition for a business, politics, or publishing major). But even when he fulfilled all of those wishes (with a few rebellious exceptions in his romantic choices), Benvolio never quite managed to gain his uncle's approval. For every good grade, there was a new exam coming up that he was told to focus on instead. For every high-profile date on his arm, there was scorn and disappointment when it didn't lead to an equally high-profile engagement. And even when he managed to get into a prestigious journalism course without even having to mention his family name once and proudly showed his uncle the first piece he got top marks on, the reply was a mention that one of his classmates had just won an award.

And yet, for all his shortcomings, when Benvolio eventually tried to turn his back on his family and make his own way in the world, he found it impossible to get a job anywhere even with top grades and an impressive portfolio - anywhere but at Montague Publishing, right under his uncle's nose. And even there, he still never got a chance to prove himself and put his expensive degree to good use by burying his teeth in a complex investigative story, a tough interview or an insightful essay... anything but obituaries and write-ups for the society pages.

There's no escaping his uncle but no pleasing him either, and so Benvolio feels like he's stuck, doomed to forever struggle and fail and get up again, and he's getting tired of it. Tired enough to have agreed to his uncle's suggestion of getting a business degree and switching into management - but not before he makes one last desperate attempt to break free and create something of his own: his magazine. The very dream that's been sustaining him for months now - and that brought him here, pouring his heart out to Rosaline Capulet, who he was supposed to charm and impress enough to make her fall in love with him.

So much for that.

But Rosaline looks, if not exactly impressed then at least not annoyed or bored. She looks... _soft_ , in a way that makes him ache because he can't remember the last time someone looked at him like this, like what he's saying is worth listening to, and his petty grievances are valid even if he knows there are plenty of people doing much worse. He remembers their first proper conversation a few nights ago, her assumptions about his "type" and the privileges that come with it - privileges he's not going to deny he has - and he wonders if she's about to remind him that he's got a good life and should stop whining.

What she says instead is:

"I'm sorry. For the stuff you're dealing with, and for bringing it up today."

And then she lays her hands on his where they're resting on the table on either side of his beer glass and his heart skips a little. Which is ridiculous, because, well, it's not like they haven't touched before. A few nights ago, they were making out outside a pizza place. Yesterday, she literally threw herself at him in his doorway. And yet, that little gesture feels so much more intimate - until it occurs to him that the driving force behind it is probably pity, and that should be the last thing he should inspire in her.

But the way she looks at him doesn't feel like pity - it feels like understanding.

It feels too much, suddenly.

“But enough about me,” he hastens to say, as if he hadn't just rambled on about his personal history for who knows how long, “I believe you still owe me a few answers. For example, you've found out about my latest romantic disaster right away. Now I want to know what kinds of skeletons you have in your closet."

Yes, it's a lame attempt at distracting her – and himself, to be honest – from delving any deeper into the issue of his lack of “male guidance”, or any kind of guidance. But if he wants to avoid straight up breaking down and crying in the middle of some random pub, a change of subject is in order.

Luckily, Rosaline seems to understand, because she looks confused for a moment, but she doesn't protest.

"None, really - fairly uneventful love life." She says it casually enough, but her eyes flicker away from his for a moment, and Benvolio wonders if there's more behind her evasive answer.

"Really? Because you published a list of ' _25 Best Cocktails and Curses to get rid of a Broken Heart_ ' a few months ago, and then some time later you made a compelling ' _Case for Dying Alone_ '." He's quoting actual articles she's published for _glam!_ , indicating that he's doing so by miming air quotes. "I have a feeling _something_ happened."

"Have you been reading my old articles?"

"Of course I have! And don't pretend like you didn't do the same thing."

She doesn't outright admit it, but her expressive face tells him he's right.

"Of course, all _my_ more recent stuff is about dead people," he adds, aiming for a tone that's charmingly self-deprecating but that ends up merely wistful and frustrated. Working at the Montague mother ship isn't all it's cracked up to be, even for a true-blooded Montague himself.

"Well, if it helps, you're pretty good at making them come alive again."

"That's… possibly the nicest thing anyone's ever said about my work." It actually is, and he feels childishly pleased by her praise. Her choice of topics - or more likely, her aunt's - aside, Rosaline is a good writer – evocative, funny, to the point. The fact that she seemed to like his writing? It means something.

"You're welcome," Rosaline says, more agreeable than she usually is, and Benvolio reminds himself not to let her distract him but to get the conversation back to the subject of her romantic past.

"Don't think flattery will get you out of this, Capulet. I want to know the full story behind those articles."

"There isn't much of a story to it. Those articles were just your aunt's way of capitalising on my personal life." That revelation is infused with an amount of bitterness that should shock him but doesn't - given how his aunt is in private, he can only imagine the hell it must be to work for her.

"But if you must know the story", she says before he can ask again, and then provides what might be the shortest, most inadequate summary of heartbreak he's ever heard: "I was in love, he was in love, and it still wasn't enough."

She tries to make it sound very matter-of-fact, like it's no big deal – but there's a shadow on her face, something in the way she turns down her gaze, that tells him it was.

"And in any case, I'm not the type for big loves." It sounds like a conclusion, a determined attempt to have the last word on the subject.

Well, she's not getting it.

"Everyone deserves a big love."

"First of all, I'm pretty sure there are definitely people who don't. And secondly,” she shrugs, “I don't know, I just don't like it very much."

"You don't _like_ it?" This may be more confusing than any of the things she's said or done since they started dating. "Who the hell doesn't _like_ being in love?"

And who, he mentally adds as he realises that none of this makes sense, would not only be dating someone but even pressure their date into a ridiculously premature emotional commitment (hello, couples therapy!) if they didn't even expect something good to come out of it?

Like so many things about her, this is a contradiction he just can't wrap his head around, and for a moment, he feels childishly annoyed that she would start dating him in the first place if she's pretty much given up on love anyway. Then he remembers that, well, she kind of started because _he_ approached _her_ , and his reasons had very little to do with romance either, so he's hardly one to judge.

Still, this is another of those riddles that threaten to drive him mad – but when she answers, his momentary irritation dissolves instantly. Because for all her flair for the theatrics, her reply sounds honest, delivered quietly and thoughtfully, a little bit bashful as if she's embarrassed to be admitting to a weakness – which, knowing her, she probably is – and he knows instinctively that this is her; this is the real Rosaline Capulet he's been waiting for.

"I don't like what it does to you. How it can make you feel out of control, like you're not even yourself anymore."

She can deny it all she wants, Benvolio thinks, but she's been hurt in the past, and he hates it. Hates that it apparently got to her so much that she'd rather just close herself off to love than allow herself to be hurt again – and his stomach turns at the thought that that's exactly what might happen here, if he isn't very, very careful.

"Well, you were clearly with the wrong person if they made you feel like that. Isn't the whole idea to find someone with whom you can be _exactly_ yourself?"

He tried to keep his voice light and reassuring, but Rosaline freezes at the words, lashes fluttering rapidly as she looks at him. He waits for her to say something scathing in return, to change the subject or push him away, because he clearly struck a chord. But she doesn't, and suddenly, he feels hopeful: Maybe he just managed to inspire some optimism within her again, he thinks with what might just be vodka-induced hybris. Maybe someone can make her believe in love again, at some point.

Maybe that someone could be him.

“What about you?” Rosaline asks, and his heart momentarily stops when he thinks she's read his mind. “Do you believe in it? One True Love and all that?”

“Well, maybe not the rom-com cliché of it, but...”, he begins only to find that halfway through, he feels annoyed by his own cowardly reply. “You know what? I _do_ believe in it. I'm not sure what exactly that means, how it's going to happen or how it's going to feel when it does but... yeah. I'd like to have that.”

She watches him again, quiet and unnerving, but she doesn't make fun of him for his admission, and he feels suddenly nervous at what he just accidentally admitted: That whatever a "big love" might be, he hasn't had one yet. He's had flings and crushes, he's been in relationships where he thought he was about ready to fall in love - but he hasn't felt that kind of all-encompassing, exhilarating, dangerous love that she's talking about, and he has wondered, once or twice, if that's because of something he's been doing wrong.

"Maybe I'm just a hopeless romantic, and one day I'll fall on my face too, and say goodbye to love for good. But for now, I'm not ready to turn my back on it." He's not sure if he's trying to convince her or reassure himself, but either way, it seems to be working - and oddly enough, now Rosaline does seem a little impressed.

"That's pretty brave of you." She sounds earnest, which keeps him from feeling like an idiot for drunkenly waxing poetic about love.

"Could just be stupidity,” he suggests, only half-joking, but she laughs anyway.

"Could be.” Her smile is warm and light, and when she takes a sip of her freshly-drawn beer, a little bit of foam sticks to her upper lip, and he can't quite decide whether to wipe it off with his thumb or just lean across the table and kiss it off.... and that's when the table starts to tremble under his hands.

For a second, he's confused – then Rosaline opens up her little purse which has been sitting next to her beer and takes out her phone to answer it.

He tries not to listen, but from her shocked expression and her apologetic exclamations he gathers that she had other plans with someone and accidentally forgot about them.

Because of him, some smug little voice points out in his head. Luckily, he suppresses the smug little smile that threatens to follow, because in that moment, she turns to him to explain.

"I'm so sorry, I forgot I made plans with my sister and my cousin to go out for drinks tonight..."

It sounds like she's trying to politely get away from him, hoping he'll urge her to leave and meet up with her sister and cousin - but, it occurs to Benvolio in this moment, this could be a great opportunity.

"Why don't we just join them?" With the importance she seems to have placed on meeting his friends and family, this suggestion should be right up her alley. "You've met my people after all, it seems only fair I get to meet yours."

To his surprise, she actually hesitates - just another thing that simply does not make sense, considering how important it apparently was to her to meet the people he cares about.

Then she turns her attention back to her phone.

"We'll meet you guys there."

The prospect finishes the job started by the alcohol and Rosaline's gentle encouragement, and finally knocks him out of his mopey mood. Yes, today took its toll on him – but as scarring as that horrible therapy session was, it did accomplish one thing: He managed to prove his commitment to Rosaline, and apparently it inspired enough trust in her that she's willing to introduce him to her sister and her cousin. Which means a chance to get back on track with the bet, soften her up so that when he asks her to go to the gala, she'll say yes.

And, though this should be a lot less important than it feels: It means a chance to meet the people she's closest to – and, hopefully, get another glimpse of the _real_ Rosaline Capulet.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who've read Falser Than Vows Made in Wine, I really hope their backstories aren't too similar, especially in Benvolio's case - apparently, this is just how I like to translate their show backstory into a modern AU.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I have a lot of procrastination needs this week, so I finally wrote and posted the second half of the last chapter.  
> I have yet to make and publish the playlist for this fic, but this chapter's background music is John Legend's “A Good Night”, bc honestly what is the point of a rom-com fic without John Legend on the soundtrack?

There's a List of Things She Should Not Do that has been growing in Rosaline's head ever since she first had a drink with Benvolio Montague, and tonight, it gets even longer. Because she definitely should not introduce him to her sister and her cousin – and yet, that's exactly what's happening now, because just when she was about to shut down his suggestion that he come along to the girls' night she forgot all about, he was looking at her expectantly and, well, it would be pretty rude of her to deny him to come. So she's taken him along to the Capulets' favorite bar, and now Rosaline is in the weird position of not knowing how she wants the upcoming meeting to go.

Normally she would be nervous, because she'd want the two people she cares about most in the world to approve of the guy she's dating – and even more, she'd be nervous for the guy himself, who would have to stand up to her family's cross-interrogation. But of course she doesn't _actually_ need them to like Benvolio because Benvolio is not _actually_ going to stick around.

In fact, she wouldn't have to ask Livia and Juliet twice to help her in scaring him off – but she also doesn't want the two of them to be so hostile that the evening turns into a complete disaster. Benvolio has been through enough today, he doesn't need to face the unholy inquisition as well. (That's the only reason, she tells herself, the only reason she's going to tell them to go easy on him. Not because it matters, but because he deserves a break.)

It turns out Rosaline isn't the only one confused about the situation: Livia and Juliet, who were waiting for them at a bar downtown, greet Benvolio with never-before-seen politeness, and manage not to ask a single inappropriately nosy question until Benvolio gets up to get drinks from the bar.

Then they immediately lean in close to Rosaline, looking at her expectantly.

"So? What's the plan for tonight? How are we torturing him?” Juliet looks almost too excited to begin “torturing” a person who's never personally wronged her.

"There's no plan. No torturing. We'll just... hang out."

This is met with blank stares.

"Is there a strategy behind that, or...?"

"No strategy. I just... Trust me, I've tortured him enough for one day. The poor guy deserves a break."

This of course would be easily explained if she just told them what happened at Isabella's – but that would mean telling them all about Benvolio's personal problems, that glance inside him he allowed her earlier, and that seems wrong somehow.

Unfortunately, this means that her audience is drawing their own conclusions.

Juliet gasps. "You _like_ him!"

"I don't..."

But her little cousin won't let her defend herself.

"You _like_ him!", she singsongs annoyingly. "You want to _date_ him. You think he's _pretty_..."

"Technically, I'm already dating him. And he _is_ pretty."

" _Is_ he now?" Livia chimes in as well now, and Rosaline hastens to clarify.

“Objectively speaking.”

“Oh, sure, because _objectivity_ is what's happening here.”

“There's nothing _happening_ here,” Rosaline snaps. “It's just... I may haven taken things a little too far earlier.”

Livia notices it first, the hint of tension in her voice, and her expression turns more serious.

“Why? What happened?”

This is exactly what Rosaline wanted to avoid – but luckily, it seems she's going to get around it after all, because Benvolio turns away from the bar, carrying the drinks he went to get for himself and Rosaline, and begins to make his way back to their table.

“I can't explain it now. Just... be nice, okay?”

Watching her little sister and cousin “be nice” to a guy she's dating is honestly... bizarre.

“So, Benvolio”, Livia asks, stiltedly polite, while beside her Juliet smiles unnaturally, “what is it that you do?”

“I write about dead people,” Benvolio replies, completely deadpan, and Rosaline rolls her eyes.

“ _That's_ how you introduce yourself?”

“Always. It's fun watching people's reactions.” He winks cheekily at Livia and Juliet. “But I guess I shouldn't come across as a complete weirdo when I'm meeting the most important people in Rosaline's life.” A quick, charming smile that doesn't seem to miss its targets. “So, what I do is write obituaries, mostly. Some weddings, too, for the society pages.”

Juliet gasps, ever the romantic.

“I love reading the wedding write-ups! Have you written about anyone we know?”

Benvolio names a pop star and a fashion designer, and Juliet looks as starstruck as he no doubt intended.

“So, how does that work? Do you actually get to attend the weddings?”

“It depends, really – sometimes I just meet the couple beforehand, they tell me a little about their backstory, explain what they've planned for their wedding, and I make a short report. But for really big names who want a longer article, I sometimes get invited to the reception with a photographer.”

“Are those big weddings as romantic as they look like in the pictures?”

Rosaline leans back in her seat to sip on her drink – a Whiskey Sour, she notices with a small smile – while Benvolio explains the ins and outs of society weddings to her wide-eyed cousin. Apparently, romance is the theme of the night – first Benvolio's optimistic outlook on love, and now Juliet is sighing loudly at the description of a wedding that sounds like it cost more than Rosaline spends in a year, rent included.

But Benvolio – unlike many a man she's dated in her life – doesn't stick to talking about himself. Soon, he directs questions back at Juliet and Livia, asking them what they do and listening with what seems like genuine interest when they tell him. He's a good listener, she's noticed that before, remembering the tiniest things even if she's only mentioned them in a throwaway sentence. It would be creepy if he didn't use that talent for good, like to remember her favorite drink, to keep up with the dozens of people usually featured in Juliet's stories, or to draw Livia into conversation with insightful questions.

With a flash of irritation, Rosaline catches herself essentially swooning at a guy's basic social skills, and mentally rolls her eyes at herself. So what if he gets on well with her sister and her cousin? They're likable people, talking to them isn't _that_ much of a chore, and certainly shouldn't get him any extra points.

Luckily, Rosaline doesn't get much more time to fawn over Benvolio's ability to hold conversations with other humans. The next time she returns from a bathroom break – a quick one, to make sure Livia and Juliet can do as little damage as possible – she finds that their little group has grown, and standing by their table are none other than Romeo and Mercutio.

The how and why of that situation is explained to her when she joins them at their table, now nervous herself as she greets the two men – she hasn't exactly left the best impression on them, after all.

"Romeo and Mercutio asked me if I wanted to come out for a drink, and since they were in the neighborhood, I figured why not just meet up here?"

Benvolio's explanation makes sense, and since neither Livia nor Juliet seem bothered by he newcomers, Rosaline can't possibly think of any objection either.

In fact, it turns out, Juliet seems very much not bothered – quite the opposite: She strikes up a conversation with Romeo, innocently flirtatious, and it doesn't take long before neither of them so much as acknowledge anyone else. Which is okay, because between the rest of them, conversation resumes easily. Livia mentions that she's a physical therapist, which prompts Mercutio to request advice on how to deal with some sort of injury he acquired in an alcohol-induced accident. It doesn't take much prompting to get him to share the full story, which is admittedly hilarious, and from that one story he immediately launches into another one, delivered with slightly overwhelming verve and charm, and Rosaline almost forgets about her initial awkwardness.

 _Almost_ , because as soon as Benvolio leaves the table, Mercutio turns towards her.

"About yesterday…" he begins, and Romeo interrupts his conversation with Juliet to look at Rosaline as well, possibly after what might have been a not-so-gentle elbow nudge from Mercutio. "We just wanted to say, we think we got off on the wrong foot, and we're sorry we were being so rude. You only meant well."

Romeo nods his agreement, and Rosaline squints at them suspiciously. Mercutio is a smooth talker, no doubt, but that apology still came out _very_ smoothly, almost as if he had rehearsed it. She wonders if Benvolio put the two of them up to it, or if they're simply very good wingmen.

Then she scolds herself for being so mistrustful. Romeo and Mercutio seem like decent guys – so what if they did plan this apology simply to help out their friend? That doesn't have to mean they don't mean it.

"Apology accepted - and I have to admit I overreacted a little as well. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it. We're getting along now, aren't we?"

Rosaline nods, still a tiny little bit suspicious about this unexpected reconciliation.

"Good, because I haven't had time to give you my speech about what a great guy Benvolio is."

"And you're not going to!" Benvolio protests, appearing behind his friend with flaming cheeks.

"Aw, come on – I've got bullet points and everything. Or I could make it a listicle, _Glam!_ -style!" Mercutio waggles his eyebrows promisingly, and Rosaline has to laugh at his persistence.

"Nope." Beside her, Benvolio is shaking his head determinedly. "No speech, no bullet points. How about," he takes Rosaline's hand and tugs her to her feet, "we hit the dance floor instead?"

The dance floor isn't much more than an area cleared of tables near the back of the room, which is where Rosaline lets Benvolio drag her now. The others follow not far behind, and she hears Mercutio say "Don't think you got out of this one!" to Benvolio, which she guesses means she'll get to hear that lecture on his qualities at some point.

Dancing, it turns out, is exactly what they needed after a long and emotionally draining day - and with Benvolio, it's as easy as everything else.

He's not a great dancer - although neither is Rosaline - but he's enthusiastic and he can keep a rhythm even if he goes without the flashy moves Mercutio is showing off. Benvolio is all smiles and silly dance moves and trying to get her to twirl, and she's relieved that his good mood seems to have been restored again.

Looking around, Rosaline feels a sting of something bittersweet: This is what her life should be like more often, rather than just an endless cycle of worry about making rent and overtime at work and taking on assignments she hates to silence Tessa's subtle threats of termination. She should be allowed to just hang out with a group of friends (or people who could be friends), dancing and laughing and flirting with a cute guy.

And there's _definitely_ flirting as the evening progresses, which Rosaline can't help but take as a good sign: It has to mean Benvolio has forgiven her for the "therapist", right?

He has, she decides when she takes a sip of her drink some time later and Benvolio leans in to steal a taste himself and then a kiss for good measure, soft and mellow like the music the bar's DJ has put on (possibly in an attempt to prompt them to go home). But Rosaline isn't satisfied with "soft and mellow" for very long and tries to switch it up instead, to kiss back a little harder, push herself a little closer.

Benvolio notices with a chuckle.

"Are you trying to take advantage of me, Capulet?" He doesn't seem to mind this fact at all, but keeps talking anyway – more than necessary, in Rosaline's opinion. "Because you should know I'm very, very drunk."

With that, he does the opposite of what she was trying to achieve, and steps back a little.

"And so are you."

God, she hates it when he's right – but he definitely is, she knows when she takes a moment to verify his judgment and finds out that the room is actually spinning a little, her body doesn't seem to be entirely under her control, and she can't even begin to count how many drinks she had.

She still pouts, on principle.

Benvolio only laughs.

"That's adorable, but I will not be swayed." Still, apparently he can be swayed a little bit, because he leans in for one more peck. "Rain check?"

It's better than nothing, she guesses, and smiles a breathy "Alright" in his direction before it can occur to her that Benvolio making plans for further dates is the _opposite_ of what she should want to achieve here.

But if she's completely honest with herself, Rosaline has to admit that she's not entirely sure what she wants anymore.

***

 

The next morning, Rosaline has a hangover. On a workday.

The last time this happened, she still had the youthful metabolism to handle it easily. Today... not so much.

Even though Benvolio called her a cab last night and handed her to her sister with strict instructions to make her drink plenty of water, Rosaline still wakes up feeling like death incarnate. She drags herself to the office two hours later than usual and barely in time for the morning staff meeting, glad for Tessa's lax stance on flexible work hours – which, given her equally lax stance on paying overtime, is the only thing that makes the work at all manageable.

It took two painkillers, her biggest pair of sunglasses and a gigantic mug of strong, black coffee to even get her here, and still Rosaline's contribution to the twice-weekly staff conference consists entirely of staring blearily at a point somewhere behind whoever is talking at the moment without hearing a word they're saying.

It doesn't help that her head isn't just pounding like crazy but that her thoughts inside it are running endless circles around one thing: Benvolio, and her assignment, and what the hell she's doing with either. And it definitely doesn't help when Tessa brings up the assignment during the meeting, lauding it as the biggest thing to happen at _Glam!_ Magazine all year, and Rosaline has to nod and lie through her teeth to assure her boss that the assignment is going well and she's busy creating content for the video that is supposed to air a week from now.

Of course, Tessa doesn't really buy it. She may nod along with her bullshit claims and praise her for her innovative work in front of the others, but as soon as the meeting is over, she asks her to stay behind.

“I don't mean to step on your toes, Rosaline, but how is the assignment _really_ going? Because rumour has it my nephew is still very much in your life.”

“ _Rumour has it”_? What is that even supposed to mean – is Tessa keeping tabs on her nephew's love life? Having Rosaline followed to make sure she does her job? Dazedly, Rosaline wonders whether her boss is unaware just how creepy she comes across sometimes, or if she's doing it on purpose.

Then she pulls herself together.

“Well, he is proving to be very...” _sweet_ , her brain supplies unhelpfully, “adaptable.”

“Which means?”

“Which means he doesn't seem to mind those typical annoying behaviors all that much....”

“Who would have thought?” Tessa says it like it's a big joke, and Rosaline can't help but wonder what her and Benvolio's relationship is like. If they're close, Benvolio didn't mention it when he talked about his family last night. He seems more focused on his uncle, which makes sense, but after what she heard last night about how little his uncle seems to value him, Rosaline thinks he really could use some other family member on his side. Unfortunately, it seems unlikely that Tessa would be willing to fill that role.

“Rosaline?” Tessa tears her out of her rambling thoughts, one arched eyebrow conveying how displeased she is not to have Rosaline's full attention. “Happy as I am to hear that my nephew seems to be becoming a little more mature, don't you think that's a problem for your assignment?”

It is, Rosaline knows, though not exactly in the way Tessa seems to think. But she's certainly not going to let her boss know _that_. In fact, she's going to pull herself together now, and fast.

“I wouldn't call it a problem yet – after all, the longer he sticks around, the more stuff I can try, right?”

Rosaline forces a smile onto her face, bracing and optimistic, and while Tessa still seems a little skeptical, she apparently respects her attitude.

“Alright then, keep trying – but there better be one killer video coming out of this. In fact,” Tessa smiles with an idea that seems to please her very much, “you're relieved of all other jobs this week. Stick to the assignment no matter what, okay?”

Rosaline nods, quietly reminding herself for what feels like the millionth time that she's doing this for her sister, and that that makes it... well, still not okay, but necessary.

“No matter what,” she confirms, and Tessa finally lets her go.

Returning to her desk, Rosaline forces herself to keep her head up and her expression neutral, trying not to let the sharks around the open-plan office catch on that something's wrong. While she's at it, she tries to clear her mind as well, and to banish all thoughts of last night: How refreshingly vulnerable Benvolio allowed himself to be with her, how well he got along with Livia and Juliet, how easily he seemed to fit into her life, Romeo and Mercutio included. It doesn't really work – but it has to, she knows.

As fun and enlightening as last night was, this morning has shown her one thing: She can either complete her assignment or she can let Benvolio into her life without a ten day-time limit, but she can't do both.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaangst! At this point it feels like this story is basically just Rosaline really, really wanting to just let herself fall for Benvolio and then reminding herself why she can't, so there's a chance this might be getting repetitive – but then again, there's nothing wrong with a little pining.


	8. Chapter 8

When Benvolio calls her early in the afternoon to ask if she wants to come over for dinner, she says yes without hesitation. She's going to drive him off, once and for all.

Except no matter what she tries, Benvolio is _impossible_ to scare off.

And she tries _a lot_.

All afternoon, she's bombarding him with messages, constantly seeking his attention throughout the day and making increasingly grandiose plans for their shared future. He always replies, patient and positive and apparently willing to go along with whatever she says.

She doubles down on the cutesy nicknames, and by the time she gets to his place in the evening, she's progressed from “Benny-babe” to "pooky-bear". That one, she notices with satisfaction seems to make his eye twitch with irritation – but it still doesn't drive him off.

Neither do the special supplies she brought along: A fluffy blanket in glaring cough syrup-pink, an entire set of not-quite matching but equally ugly throw pillows, a framed photo she took of the two of them at the boxing match, all of which she spreads out around the living-room. The bathroom sees the addition of a pink doily, upon which she places assorted knick-knacks including a glass bowl of tampons and pads and a scented candle she got as a sample from work which diffuses such a cloyingly sweet stench that the one time she lit it she had to air out her apartment for an entire day.

“I mean, it's not entirely my style,” Benvolio only replies, very cautiously, when she asks him what he thinks of her redecorating efforts, “but if you think it brightens up the place, go for it.”

At this point, she's beginning to question his sanity – but Benvolio only informs her that dinner is ready and asks her to come sit at the dining table tucked in an alcove near the kitchen. It's tastefully minimal like the rest of the apartment, matte dark wood to contrast with the cognac shade of the leather sofa, and she wonders how a man with his apparent taste can stand stand the decoration atrocities she's committed in just a few minutes.

Desperate for progress, she tries baby talk next, and _finally_ manages to make a dent in his armor of unyielding pleasantness.

Accompanied by her inane observations and uncomfortably Lolita-esque conversation, they make it halfway through a delicious meal of fresh salad and perfectly roasted salmon – “light and healthy,” Benvolio assured her, perhaps to avoid another calorie-related freak-out – before Benvolio sets down his fork a little too forcefully to ask:

“I'm sorry, but what the hell is going on here? Is this supposed to be sexy? Do you think I lost half my brain cells because of all the drinking we did last night?”

“I'm sowwy?” Rosaline bites down the instinct to gag and sticks to the baby talk, which finally seems to be working.

“This... whatever it is you're doing. It's...” he seems to be struggling to control himself, and somewhat succeeds, because she's pretty sure his next words were intended to come out a lot harsher: “...a little weird.”

Alright, she finally irritated him – now it's crucial to keep using that momentum. The perfect opportunity to check off a few more items on the list of turn-offs: random paranoia and aggressive berating.

”Well, I'm sorry, I thought that was your type.“

”My _type_? What, a woman who can't carry on a regular adult conversation?“

”You know – sweet, blonde, a little ditzy, doesn't have too many opinions..."

”You think I'd be dating _you_ if I wanted a woman without _opinions_?!“

He sounds so genuinely baffled that Rosaline has to stifle a laugh.

“I don't know _what_ you're thinking because you never _talk_ about your feelings!” Her voice is taking on a definite hysterical note now, growing ever higher in pitch, as she delivers this blatant lie – as last night has shown, Benvolio has no problem talking about his feelings.

Watching him struggle to stay calm, Rosaline is sure victory is within her grasp: Any minute now he's going to lose patience and show her the door.

But what he does instead is lean forward across the table and take her hands, decisive but not so abrupt as to be threatening. The movement is unexpected given her aggressive tone, and it momentarily breaks her concentration.

“Listen, Capulet,” he's been calling her Capulet less and less since they started this whole thing, clearly making a concentrated effort to use her first name, but somehow, the fact that he falls back into old habits now makes him seem more earnest. “Whoever I've been with before, now I am here with _you_. Because I want to spend time with _you_ , and no one else. So don't ever think you need to change for me, or for anyone else. Alright?”

He's surprised her a few times since they started “dating”, beginning with the fact that, well, he asked her out in the first place, but he's never managed to stun her so completely as he has now. Because there's a chance he's just saying this to get her to calm down, but even then, the way he's saying it feels so goddamn _earnest_ , and the words themselves are so powerful they make her breath catch even though she's heard similar words before, and they turned out to be lies.

Escalus told her he wanted her too, a lot of times, but in the end, he always wanted her to be a _little_ different – a little less likely to start fights over feminism at fancy dinners, a little more willing to just accept things as they are and be happy with a well-cared-for existence as a prop in his story.

She pulls her hands away too quickly, suddenly feeling like Benvolio's skin is burning into hers.

“Well,” she clears her throat, which suddenly feels scratchy, and scrambles to remember what else she planned for tonight. “I'll still have to take a very good look at your saved contacts later. Make sure you're not cavorting with any of your exes.”

“Right.” He looks uncomfortable, and she stifles a smirk. Jealous and controlling? There's no way he's going to put up with that. And speaking of…

"Oh, and I've been meaning to mention this: I've bought a two-person account for StayTru for us. This way, we can always be sure we're faithful to each other."

"Stay what?"

"StayTru. It's an app that lets you see which websites your partner has visited online, even when they're in private mode. So no secret dating on the side, no porn - nothing standing between the two of us."

She waits for his reaction with baited breath. He's not going to take this, is he?

"Whatever makes you feel safe."

She almost slips up and asks him what the hell he thinks he's doing. _StayTru_? She just talked Juliet out of dating a creep who raved about that abuse-enabling piece-of-shit app (which is how she knew about it in the first place) and Benvolio is just going to _accept_ it?

To be honest, she's getting a little worried about him at this point. Is he seriously going to take this much crap from anyone? And if so, why? She's not deluded enough to tell herself it's because he's _that_ into her – which means he's one of those people who are so desperate not to be alone that they'll put up with anything.

The idea actually makes her feel a little sad for him – and once again, that touch of empathy proves to be her undoing. Because after what he told her about his upbringing last night, the thought lodges itself into her brain that perhaps his incredible “adaptability”, as she put it to Tessa this morning, is a result of his uncle's dismissive attitude, an attempt to finally find _someone_ who considers him good enough. And maybe she's overreaching with that interpretation, maybe he's just a very chill dude, maybe he just wants to get her into bed only to drop her again afterwards . 

But on the off chance that her (somewhat melodramatic) bit of armchair psychology turns out to be correct, she eases up on the crazy for the rest of the evening.

Soon, they're back to having a normal conversation, about work and being the responsible elder sibling and cousin and the fact that while they love the city, sometimes it gets just a little too much.

"On the other hand," he says and pulls her up from the couch and over to his gem of a balcony, "only in the city do you get a view like this."

Yeah, he's showing off – but he has a point, and quite possibly the best view of the skyline she's ever seen without paying for the elevator ride, so she lets him pull her outside and to the stone balustrade. She's about to point out that it's perhaps a little chilly for an extended stargazing session when he steps up behind her and wraps a blanket around both of them, arms crossing over her clavicles to envelop her in a bubble of warmth.

Now that things have calmed down again, she really should go back to her assignment. There has to be _something_ she can try that doesn't hold the risk of psychologically scarring him forever, right?

But he's warm and solid against her back and nuzzling her neck in a way that makes her skin tingle with anticipation, and that view… that view alone is definitely worth putting off the crazy act for just a _little_ longer.

So she enjoys the view while Benvolio's lips begin to wander, slowly tracing a path from the curve of her shoulder to the side of her jaw and that tender spot below her ear where her pulse beats wild and fast under his ministrations.

By the time she remembers what she's here for, she's leaning back against him, Benvolio's arms comfortably tight around her and her eyes closed in bliss. He breathes hotly against a particularly sensitive spot and her knees threaten to give out, and that's when she finally decides to put a stop to this, one way or the other. “No matter what”, she promised Tessa this morning – her own libido is just going to have to take a backseat to the assignment that's going to save her sister's dignity.

She bursts into tears, because that was one of the more radical measures left on her list: Excessive emotion during sexual encounters (which, judging by the sound she just made and the urgency with which he's pressing against her, this _definitely_ counts as).

Benvolio draws back as if she'd burst into flames.

“Rosaline? What's wrong? Are you... did you not want this?”

She shakes her head, crocodile tears dripping down her cheeks, and tries not to let his genuine worry startle her out of character.

“I'm just so _happy_!”

His confusion is palpable.

"Happy."

"I've kissed so many frogs over the years," she internally cringes at the metaphor, one of those sayings that have always irked her, "and now we've found each other, and we're going to be perfect together, _forever_!"

He's silent for a moment, an oddly blank look on his face, and Rosaline holds her breath waiting for the inevitable freak-out and quick retreat. And there _has_ to be a retreat - guys like him don't do well with "forever".

"Listen, Rosaline...”

Rosaline stifles a triumphant smirk, waiting for him to work up to the “it's not you it's me” she's been waiting for.

“I'm happy that you're happy, really, and that you like being with me... It just seems like you're a little overwhelmed right now. How about I call you a cab, and we postpone this? I don't want you to do something you might regret."

Yup, this is it. He's trying to be subtle about it, Rosaline has to give him that, but she doesn't have a doubt that he's preparing to get out of this, fast.

She lets him put her in a cab, though not without firing off a few more cutesy endearments and tearful reminders to call her, just to turn up the pressure a little bit more, and when the door closes, she leans back with a relieved sigh.

She's going to go to bed now, without thinking about the way his hands and lips felt on her, and then she's going to get up and finish that video tomorrow and this whole thing will finally be over.

***

 

Her plan fails spectacularly: Not only does Rosaline not manage to banish thoughts of him and her on that balcony _at all_ , but she was also a little premature in assuming she was rid of him for good.

Benvolio calls her the next morning just as she's about to open up her laptop and get to work on that video with three luxurious days to spare. His raspy voice indicates he just woke up, and Rosaline is reluctantly impressed: Even if she's sure he only promised to call last night to postpone the inevitable break-up, at the very least he's decent enough to actually follow up on it and not just ghost her.

"Morning, babe. How are you? Did you sleep well?"

This doesn't sound much like the beginning of a conversation that will end with the two of them going separate ways, and her mind is not equipped to deal with his sheer tenacity this early in the day.

"Did I _sleep_ well?"

"Yes. I got the feeling you were a little out of it last night."

"Are you saying I was acting crazy?" It's not a very sophisticated strategy, but it's the best she can come up with now, so she sticks with it. "I knew it! You don't want to be with me!", she wails into the phone before he can say anything. Last night was nice (well, the parts where _she_ was being nice), but now it's time to end this once and for all.

"Of course I want to be with you, Rosaline. I just got the impression that you weren't really enjoying yourself much."

Rosaline stifles an annoyed groan. She's been on the occasional date without really enjoying herself, and none of the men she was with noticed a thing – and now Benvolio Montague, presumed the worst of them all, is supposed to be attentive enough to do?

Then again, she did burst into tears. No matter how thick, one would have to be willfully ignorant not to notice.

And yet, he's still not finished with her.

"And you're saying this is somehow my fault?"

Honestly, her research alter ego is so irrational Rosaline is exhausted herself – but Benvolio still remains patient.

"Of course I don't. I just... don't always understand you. I'm going to need you to help me with that." His voice is soft, coaxing, and she thinks vaguely that he could probably talk her into a lot of stuff, up to and including illegal things.

"I'm not sure I can. I mean, look at what you're doing now."

“Calling you to see how you are?” There's a flicker of irritation in his voice, she imagines.

“Exactly, _calling_ me! If you really cared about me, you would have come over. Or you wouldn't have let me go home alone in the first place – you would have come home with me to hold me all night.”

Rosaline suppresses a shudder of revulsion at her own whiny voice.

“You want to be _held_?” He sounds surprised, and she smirks – but her triumph fades soon enough. “Okay then, I can do that. I can do whatever you need me to do, but you need to tell me what that is, okay?”

So he's just going to outright _ask_ her what she wants? She hasn't made a plan for _that_. Hastily, she scrolls around the document with her notes for the article, looking for some outrageous demand she can come up with on the spot – and strikes gold.

“I mean, you haven't even taken me on a romantic trip yet.”

Of course he hasn't – they've been dating for a _week_. She fully expects him to point this out, but after a barely noticeable pause, he just says:

“That's a great idea! Let's take a break from the city, relax, figure out what's going on."

Rosaline can't believe what she's hearing. He wants to spend  _more_ time with her? After all  _this_ ? But he actually sounds  excited about the plan. 

"Pack your bag, Capulet – we're skipping town!"

"What, _now_? It's the middle of the week."

"So what? I'll pick you up in an hour - that should get you enough time to call in sick from work."

"Are you suggesting I skip work to go on a trip with you?"

"Why not? Really stick it to The Man!"

"You know, that would sound a lot more convincing if you weren't like, third in line to being "the Man" yourself."

Benvolio guffaws. "You think I'm _third_ in line at the company?! That's cute."

"You're not?"

"Have you met my uncle? Even _Romeo_ is more likely to take over _Montague Publishing_."

"But he doesn't even want to go into publishing". She knows because Juliet apparently hit it off so well with Benvolio's cousin the other night that she got his entire life story out of him, including the fact that the younger Montague considers himself a singer-songwriter.

"Exactly," Benvolio replies, somewhat cryptically, but before Rosaline can inquire further, he's changed the topic. "Now, get packing. And pack some warm clothes."

"Why?"

"Because it's spring and we're going to the beach."

“The _beach_?”

“It's peaceful this time of year. Trust me, it will be great.”

She does, actually – so far, he's shown pretty good taste in date ideas, and she has to admit, she's intrigued if that impression will hold up.

And just like that, she apparently made plans for a romantic trip with the man she thought she was rid of for good just this morning – and she's slowly beginning to lose faith in the accuracy of her and Livia's list. Apparently, after compiling a list of things sure to send any man running for the hills, she has somehow found the one who's completely immune to all of them. He should be overwhelmed by intimacy issues and relationship-panic by now, or at the very least calling it quits for the sake of his sanity and self-value.

Instead, he's planning a romantic getaway.

Only once he has hung up does she it really sink in what just happened: She just got one step closer to completely failing her assignment, and now instead of looking forward to a relaxing weekend at the beach, she has to prepare herself for spending it trying to be horrible to a man she's becoming ever more sure is actually perfectly nice. She can only hope it doesn't get her stranded without a ride back.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

Benvolio whisks her away for a trip to the beach, at 10 am on a Wednesday in, as he claims, "the last available rental car in all of New York City".

Since Tessa explicitly gave her permission to work on nothing but this assignment, Rosaline simply calls the office and tells them that she'll be working from home, which means all she has to do is throw some clothes and a toothbrush in a bag, and she's ready to go. Standing on the sidewalk outside her building to wait for Benvolio to pick her up, she realizes with a slight shock that it's the first time in years that she's done something so spontaneous.

Their destination is a beach town a little over an hour's drive away, so Rosaline doesn't have much time to imagine where he'll take her – but None of the vague ideas she comes up with match the place he's chosen: Small, sleepy, and thoroughly unimpressive in the best way. There's a boardwalk with a few stalls for food, drinks, and various rentals – beach chairs, umbrellas and the like – but most of them are still boarded up and waiting for the season to actually begin, and apart from them, there can't be more than a handful of people on the boardwalk. Which, Rosaline thinks with a contented little sigh, is definitely a welcome change from the city's crowded sidewalks and crammed subways.

"So, how do you know this place?”, she asks once they've strolled all the way out to the end of the little pier branching out from the humble boardwalk. “It doesn't exactly scream 'Montague lifestyle'."

"Ironically, it _is_ Montague lifestyle - or it used to be."

Benvolio pauses, and Rosaline waits instinctively for him to keep talking – she can feel there's more.

  
"My Dad used to take us here when I was a kid, for holidays and weekend trips. It used to drive my uncle crazy because it's so unfashionable - I once heard him tell my Dad that it's pointless to come here because "no one who matters" does, but my Dad just said that was exactly the point. I always loved it."

He's been looking around while he told her this, but now his eyes meet hers again - and immediately, his expression turns embarrassed.

"I'm sorry, I'm guessing you would have preferred somewhere a little nicer - you don't have childhood memories to brighten up the place, after all."

He sounds embarrassed and a little sad, and Rosaline hates that he feels this way when really, the fact that he chose to share with her what are clearly very precious memories, makes something inside her glow with pleasant warmth.

She quickly lays her hand on his where it's resting on the wooden balustrade of the pier, both of them propped up on their elbows as they look out across the wide expanse of bottle-green and iron-blue.

"I love it here. It's casual and relaxed, and your Dad was right - that's exactly the point of getting out of the city."

For a moment he looks wary, as if waiting for her to say she was joking and that she really would prefer somewhere more fashionable, some place where there are "people who matter". But she's not going to say anything of the sort, and after another moment, he smiles and turns around to look back to the end of the pier.

"So can I assume that you'll also be okay with "relaxed and casual" for lunch? Because the one fancy restaurant in this place is terrible, but the fish and chips are amazing."

"Fish and chips it is, then!" Rosaline decides, and gets up as well to follow him along back to the boardwalk. Now that he's mentioned lunch, Rosaline does notice that she's getting a little hungry.

It takes some time to sufficiently assure Benvolio that she's okay eating fried food for once - all her food-related tantrums must have really left an impression, and he keeps offering to check if there's some place that sells salad. But once Benvolio is finally convinced, they settle down on a bench at the end of the pier and Benvolio buys them both a big helping of fresh, greasy fish and chips which are indeed amazing.

Rosaline savours every bite, which means Benvolio is finished with his portion much quicker than she is, and uses the opportunity to bring up something in a way that suggests he's been waiting for a moment just like this.

"I've been thinking, about last night..."

Rosaline freezes mid-chew. Is this it? Is he finally going to break up with her?

But that makes no sense whatsoever - after all, if he wanted to end things, why bring her here?

"Look, I'm not entirely sure what happened at my place the other night. Maybe you just had a bad day, or you were stressed or something. Whatever it is, it's clear you're going through some stuff at the moment, and I don't want to be intrusive or push you to talk about it when you're not ready. But I want you to know that if you ever need someone to talk, or if there's anything else I can do to help you, you can tell me, okay?"

He lets the words sink in for a moment, and when she nods slowly, too stunned to even begin to reply, he gets to his feet.

“Ready for dessert?”

“Umm...” She's pretty sure she's not, considering she just ate a gigantic portion of really fatty fish and chips – but Rosaline could really use a moment to think. “Sure. But whatever it is, make it the smallest possible size.”

“Gotcha. And it's ice-cream, by the way. What kind of toppings do you like?”

Rosaline shrugs. “Surprise me,” she smiles coyly, casual only until he has turned and walked away.

Then she gets out her phone and calls her sister.

Livia barely gets through “Hello” before Rosaline begins talking over her, voice shrill with urgency.

"You know how I texted you last night that I was sure I'd finally driven him off?”

“With the crying? Yeah, you...”

“Well, the crying did _not_ drive him off. Instead, he took me to the beach. And bought me fish and chips. And now he just gave me a speech about how I can talk to him about whatever it is I'm going through. He wants to _help_ me, Liv! I've treated him horribly, and instead of ditching me, he wants to _be there for me_. Fuck, what have I done?"

"Well," Livia begins, but Rosaline cuts her off again.

"I am the _actual worst_."

"You're not the worst," Livia reassures her. "But if it makes you feel this bad, why don't you just stop?"

"Stop," Rosaline repeats, equally baffled by the suggestion and the way her sister made it sound, as if it was somehow that easy.

But Livia seems to be convinced it is.

"Just stop testing stuff on him. We know it works on most other men, he just happens to be immune. If you want to spend time with him, do it. Not for Tessa, or your video, but because _you_ want to."

Rosaline pauses to ponder the suggestion - and finds that is it tempting, more so than she wants to admit. But the straight-A-student in her, the people-pleaser, can't just skip out on an assignment halfway through without some further justification.

"I mean, honestly, I should stick around to help him. He puts up with way too much crap, someone needs to tell him there's no need for that.”

“There you go,” Livia sounds like she's stifling a smile, “and what better person to do that than you? You're all about the empowerment. Help him get empowered.”

“What about you though? If I don't deliver on this assignment, Tessa will use that footage of you.”

“Let her use it. Worst case, people get a few laughs out of it until the next viral hit. I'll survive. In fact,” Livia pauses briefly, then continues with a much firmer voice, “I shouldn't have let you do this in the first place. You shouldn't have to clean up my mess.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. No stupid video is worth putting yourself through this. Besides – I know you like him. You should get a chance to see if it could go somewhere.”

“I wouldn't say I _like_ him...”

Livia laughs. “Honestly, Rosie, you're impossible. Now hang up that phone and have fun with your Montague, and don't worry about me so much.”

She wants to ask if Livia is really sure she can handle the fallout if Tessa uses that footage, wants to promise she'll come up with another solution, but Benvolio is walking towards her with two cones of topping-laden soft serve ice-cream, and she doesn't get the chance. All she has time for is to whisper “thank you!” to Livia, then he has reached her, and is frowning worriedly at her phone.

“Work?”

“My sister.”

“Anything serious?”

“No, just checking to see what I'm doing.”

And since impulsive decisions seem to be a trend with her recently, Rosaline makes another one before she's even finished thinking through the consequences: She decides to put her sister's advice to the test and just let herself be honest with Benvolio. She tells herself it's just that she's exhausted from keeping up this ridiculous charade - but she knows a part of her is genuinely wondering what would happen if… well, if she allowed this to happen, her and Benvolio and whatever they may have beyond her assignment.

“I told her I'm taking a very necessary break. Because you're right – I was pretty out of it last night. I'm only realizing now that I've been acting a little crazy.” For one short moment, she thinks she'll actually be brave enough to confess what's really behind her strange behavior – but at the last second, she chickens out. “I guess I have been a little stressed lately.”

She feels like a coward, because now that she's apparently on her way to giving this thing with him a real chance, Rosaline is quickly becoming aware of what it means: She'll have to come clean. Completely.

But maybe... maybe not right now? Maybe she can allow herself to at least try just being with him for a few hours before she risks ruining it all by telling him about that horrible assignment. After all, if there's anything that might cause even him to walk away, it should be finding out that she only started dating him to use him as her guinea pig in a stupid assignment. And if that happens... well, then she wants to have had at least this little bit of time with him.

And just in case she still had any doubts about her decision, Benvolio proves what she's been suspecting for a while now: That this thing with him could be _easy_ – astonishingly, beautifully so – if she let it. Because Benvolio, she's noticed before, has a knack for _making_ things easy, and his reaction to her somewhat vague confession is no exception.

“I get it,” he only says, sitting down on the bench beside her. “And like I said – if you want to talk, I'm here.”

He holds out one of the ice-cream cones.

“Now, do you want this or not?”

For the first time since he got back from the ice-cream stand, Rosaline pays proper attention to what Benvolio got her. What looked like one strange, splotchy, multi-coloured topping from further away turns out to be not one but half a dozen different toppings: Chocolate sprinkles, caramelized almonds, sugar sprinkles and what looks like chocolate sauce, strawberry jam, and hot fudge. From the way they're arranged in wonky stripes down the twisting peak of ice-cream, she guesses someone tried to keep them separate, but the attempt was foiled as soon as the soft ice-cream began to melt.

“What is _that_?”

“It's an Everything Ice-cream. Every topping they have.”

“I said surprise me, not _poison_ me!”, Rosaline points out, but Benvolio only grins.

“Ah, but you see, when I tried to guess what you wanted to drink, you found it presumptuous. So now I'm not trying to guess anymore – I'll just try to give you _everything_.”

Rosaline can only stare at him, reluctantly impressed by the fact that apparently, he can hand a woman the most revolting dessert she has ever seen and still use the opportunity to fire off a ridiculously romantic line. (And almost make it not sound ridiculous.)

“Of course, if you're afraid to eat it, I can always go back and get you some boring, topping-free ice-cream...”

Reaching out, Rosaline snatches the cone out of his hand.

“Give me that. I won't be intimidated, not even by Franken-topping here.”

She licks a broad swath through the drippy mess, shuddering a the way an unidentifiable barrage of various sweet tastes explodes in her mouth. But Benvolio is watching, and she won't give him the satisfaction of giving in. She forces herself to take another lick and finds that she's beginning to get used to the taste, and maybe even to appreciate its unabashed, in-your-face sugary-ness.

“For the record,” she says, after licking her lips with perhaps unnecessary thoroughness, “hot fudge is clearly the best topping.”

Benvolio's eyes cling to her lips for another moment, watching as she catches a stray sugar sprinkle from the corner of her upper lip with her tongue, before he tears them away and sits down next to her to get to work on his own ice-cream, a perfectly normal, slightly boring serving of chocolate soft serve topped with chocolate sauce.

“That is blatant chocolate sauce erasure and I will not stand for it.”

Rosaline jabs her elbow in his side, grins at his little yelp, and then returns her attention to her ice-cream – she might just be getting used to the taste. And she's definitely getting used to being rid of Clingy Nightmare Rosaline, her research alter ego.

For these two days, she decides, it's going to be just her and Benvolio, no alter egos needed, and then she'll tell Tessa she won't do the assignment, come clean to Benvolio about it, and hope for the best.

***

The rest of the day seems to prove her right: Putting her assignment on hold and just letting herself _be_ here might have been a risk, but it's a risk that pays off. The afternoon passes blissfully drama-free, just her and Benvolio eating ludicrous amounts of food and then walking it off along the beach, gathering shells and bravely dipping their bare feet in the water, still more than a little chilly this early in the year.

They talk about nothing and everything; silly stuff and real stuff and stuff that hurts, because without having to hold back, without interruptions by Crazy Assignment-Rosaline, a lot of things find their way out that she's held on tight to, as if she'd been afraid that somehow, letting him have a glimpse of her defeats will make her seem weaker in his eyes. His reaction tells her that fear was baseless.

By the time they drive on to the next town, where Benvolio has booked a hotel room for them, Rosaline is so comfortable that private things just seem to slip out without her control.

The name of the town seems familiar from the moment they pass the welcome sign, and another second later, she realizes why.

“Nan lives here!”

“Your grandmother?”

“No, not really, although she's probably the closest thing to a grandmother I have – Nan is Juliet's old nanny, but she practically raised all three of us, Juliet, Livia and me. She went on to become a foster mom after Juliet entered junior high, and she moved here to retire a few years ago. I come here to visit her occasionally, but not as often as I'd like.”

Not nearly as often, Rosaline admits to herself, suddenly feeling guilty. She tries to call on Sundays, but it must have been weeks since she last came here – there's always so much work, and on the weekends, making the trip out here by train and bus seems so daunting.

“Want to go visit her now? We could swing by, see if she's home.”

Rosaline turns sideways in her seat to look at Benvolio.

“Are you serious?”

“Why not? We're already here. It must take ages to get here without a car, why not take the opportunity to go and say Hi?”

Rosaline still hesitates. He went through all this trouble to prepare this weekend, and she's going to hit pause on it to visit her de facto-grandma? Not exactly the definition of romance.

“You'll need to tell me the address though,” Benvolio says, still sounding completely sincere, and Rosaline decides to just take him up on the offer. He shouldn't have are it if he's not ready to follow through.

She types the address into her phone, and ten minutes later, they're parked in front of the retirement community where Nan bought a small apartment.

“I promise, I'll be quick,” Rosaline says as she gets out of the car.

But Benvolio, following her example, just shrugs.

“Relax, Capulet – we have plenty of time.”

He catches up with her when she begins walking up the driveway, and Rosaline realises what he's doing.

“You want to come? You could just wait in the car!”

“Why? Are you embarrassed to introduce me?”

“No!” Rosaline protests vehemently before she notices the little smile indicating he's just pulling her leg. “But it will be boring for you – we'll just talk about people you don't know and things that happened twenty years ago.”

“And maybe look at some photos from your childhood as you walk down memory lane?” Benvolio grins mischievously. “That's what I'm hoping for.”

***

  
Nan keeps them there for hours, offering coffee and biscuits and immediately launching into a cross-interrogation of Benvolio the moment Rosaline introduces him and stumbles over the phrase “a friend”.

“Rosaline hasn't introduced me to a boyfriend in years. You two must be getting pretty serious.”

With any other man, this would have been dangerous enough to constitute a promising strategy for her assignment – but like everything else, Benvolio takes it in stride.

“We haven't been dating for long. And it was a very spontaneous decision to come visit you, so I'm guessing Rosaline didn't actually plan to introduce me – but I'll take it as a good sign that she apparently conaidered me presentable.”

Nan laughs at this, and at everything else Benvolio says with the intention of making her laugh, and by the end of their visit, he is firmly lodged in her good graces. Stunned, Rosaline watches Nan hug him goodbye with an invitation to come back anytime, and wonders how on earth a person who has spent so much time annoying her can be so good at being instantly liked by everyone else he meets.

Still, she can't really begrudge him for it. Nan is glowing with happiness at all this attention, and Rosaline thinks that any guy who will spend a chunk of a spontaneous romantic trip chatting to a lonely old woman has to be a good person, no matter how many stupid jokes and jabs he used to make at Rosaline before.

When Nan hugs her goodbye and uses the opportunity to whisper into her ear “Hold on to that one”, Rosaline thinks quietly that she just might.

Then they finally head to the hotel, with the sun already beginning to set over the ocean, and when they get there, Rosaline can only conclude that it's.... perfect. It's tiny, more of a bed and breakfast than a proper hotel, really, and it has nothing in common with the types of hotels dominating the more popular resorts a few miles down the coast: the glitzy grand hotels where socialites come to see and be seen, or the newer, even more exclusive so-called "boutique" hotels, stuffed with outrageous art and pop stars who want to be edgy and hip even on their downtime.

Nothing about their hotel is edgy, hip, or glitzy – it certainly would never make it into a travel guide published in Glam! magazine, which makes it a point not to feature anything its readers could actually afford. But this hotel looks like it will provide exactly what they came here for: peace and quiet and a beautiful view of the ocean.

"I know it's not much... but it was the best I could get on such short notice, and even at the Mothership, a junior editor's salary only goes so far."

"You have a two bedroom-apartment in midtown Manhattan. With a balcony," Rosaline points out teasingly, before it occurs to her how incredibly ungrateful and greedy the remark makes her sound.

Luckily, Benvolio isn't offended.

"Three-bedroom. And I only have that apartment because I spent my entire inheritance on it after my uncle said it would be a good investment. Which it is, but it doesn't exactly leave me flush with cash." He leans closer conspiratorially. "Truth be told, I don't even have a trust fund."

He sounds only the tiniest bit smug about destroying this last part of the clichéd image she had of him when they first met, and this too speaks in his favor.

"Be that as it may, this place looks cute. I'm sure I'll survive one night."

They go inside to check in first, which turns out to be a bit of a hassle since they arrived a lot later than Benvolio indicated on his reservation. By the time they return outside to get their bags from the car, Rosaline feels once again bad for prompting their detour.

"I'm so sorry my little visit made us late. If I had known Nan would keep us there so long, I would have gone to visit her some other time."

"Don't worry, Capulet. The receptionist just needs to get over himself. And I for one had fun this afternoon."

She raises an eyebrow skeptically. "Really."

"Yes, really. Two hours of looking at dorky photos and listening to super secret childhood stories of Rosaline Capulet - what could be more entertaining?"

"Making fun of my dorky childhood self? That's not nice."

"Nothing could be further from my mind!" Benvolio protests. "Your dorky childhood self was adorable. Clearly, you were exactly the same way back then as you are now.”

“Really? And how is that?”

She leans against the car as she asks it, and Benvolio has to twist around her to get his bag from the backseat. It occurs to her that she could make this easier for him by moving away, but just when she's about to do so, he straightens up again and props himself up on the top of the car with one hand, trapping her in place as he looks at her.

“Smart, serious, and bossy as hell.”

Rosaline has to laugh.

“ _Bossy_? That's flattering.”

Still, behind her laughter there's a hint of painful truth: Rosaline has been called “bossy” before, and it's never been meant to flatter. But if he notices, Benvolio doesn't scramble to take back the word.

“I like it.”

It's such a simple thing to say that Rosaline is caught unaware by its power: That someone could take a trait that's so often been held against her, considered a flaw, and turn it into something good... It makes something shift and loosen inside her, something wedged there for a long time. And then Benvolio leans closer once more, and that loose thing turns into an avalanche.

“I like _you_.”

Her breath stutters in her chest when he leans even closer, eyes flickering to her lips, and Rosaline holds his gaze for a moment before her eyes flutter closed in anticipation, head tilting back to receive his kiss.

And for all the times they've kissed before, this feels different somehow. For one thing, it's not fueled by Whiskey Sour or driven by Rosaline's agenda to confuse the hell out of him. For another, it feels like it's about more than the fun they know they could have together: It's about what else they could have, what _more_.

But just when she's beginning to think about what that “more” may be, Benvolio draws back, suddenly looking unusually serious.

“Rosaline, there's something I need to...”

She never finds out what the rest of that sentence is, because behind them, all hell breaks loose.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is where I return to sort of borrow one scene from the movie - but it is kind of a key scene, so.  
> Also, Benvolio and Rosaline both decide to be cowards this chapter, but they do have their reasons.  
> Also, since this fic is fuelled by a bunch of music, please consider listening to the following songs:  
> "Take your time on me" by Vance Joy for Benvolio's feelings and sort of the whole weekend: Take your time on me< /a >  
> Also, "Leave a Light on" by Doc Robinson and Taylor Meier for the Thursday afternoon parts, though sadly this one doesn't seem to be on youtube - I listen to it on Spotify, and it has the line "I'm leaning on your magic, cause you said I could have it" and I just thought that was beautiful.

Taking Rosaline on a trip, ridiculous as it seemed after a mere week of dating, turns out to be exactly the right decision. After just a few hours of walking along the beach and having fish and chips on the boardwalk and talking about nothing in particular, or not talking at all and simply looking out across the waves, Rosaline already appears to be a changed woman, relaxed and smiling.

Which, after all, is exactly what he took her here to achieve. And it seems to be working: Earlier, Rosaline explained that last night's outburst was due to stress, and being an incurable optimist, Benvolio decides that all her other random outbursts must be down to the same thing. Which can only mean that, once he removes that stress, she'll once again be a perfectly pleasant person to be around; the woman he met that first evening at the bar, or on their second date at the museum, who makes insightful, spirited conversation and who smiles in a way that, somehow, is both challenge and reward at the same time.

The thought that there's a reason behind her strange behavior is a relief, because before she explained, Benvolio was beginning to worry – and to think that whatever it is, it means he really should give up now, on both her and the bet. Starting that bet was already a dick move, he knows – but involving someone potentially unstable and vulnerable would make it even worse.

But today, Rosaline seems perfectly fine and far from vulnerable, and soon, Benvolio barely even remembers the bet. There are more important things to focus on, like the way she smiles at him before taking a taste of the rather adventurous ice-cream he brings her, or the fact that she finally opens up about that heartbreak he's been curious about since the evening they talked about their romantic histories and she claimed not to have much to tell.

It turns out there is a little bit to tell after all, and the fact that she does so after being so cautious before feels like an enormous show of trust.

Her very short summary of heartbreak turns into an entire story, a fairly simple but no less tragic one of childhood sweethearts growing apart, of compromise and sacrifice and the question of a person's worth, within or without a relationship.

Apparently, Rosaline's ex, her boyfriend of several years – whom Benvolio actually remembers after digging through some memories of company events past, handsome and refined and well-dressed in the subtle way of the truly rich – was aiming for a career in politics that didn't gel well with Rosaline's own ambitions as a journalist.

“He needed a full-time politician's wife, someone to attend rallies and host fundraisers and raise photogenic children in a big house in the suburbs and agree with every point of his platform and I... I couldn't be that person.”

As Rosaline explains, it took a long time for that truth to sink in, which made the break-up all the more painful. Rosaline makes it sound like some great, inevitable tragedy, something way out of anyone's control, and certainly not something that could have been averted, if her ex had fought for her enough. In Benvolio's opinion, it sounds like the guy simply expected _her_ to make all the sacrifices and not make any himself because he considered his political ambitions to be more important than Rosaline's own dreams – which means he didn't deserve her, simple as that, and the only bad thing about the break-up was that it caused Rosaline to suffer.

Cautious, Benvolio keeps his opinion of her ex to himself. But he does tell her that he thinks she did nothing wrong:

"Your dreams and ambitions are _not_ less important than someone else's," he says once she's finished her tale, and in his attempt to convince her, the words may come out a little too fierce. She looks startled for a moment – and then so relieved that he wonders if she expected him to say that she was wrong to break up with politician guy; wonders how many other people have said so to make her so uncertain about the issue.

“Still," she says, "As horrible and gold-digging as it sounds, it would have made things a whole lot easier to stay – financially, as well...” He's not entirely sure who she's playing devil's advocate for - the words certainly don't sound like they reflect her opinions, for as little as he knows her, he's sure "financial security" would never be enough of a reason for Rosaline Capulet to give up her ambitions.

“But it wouldn't have made things easier at all, not in the long run,” Benvolio assures her, trying to wipe away concerns someone must have planted in her head long ago. “You would have begun to resent him for making you give up what you love, and then eventually you would have left anyway, or stayed only for the money and the status. Neither of you deserved that.”

“Yes,” she breathes, as if scared to admit it unless someone else says it first, “that's exactly what would have happened. And it _would_ have been unfair!”

She says it as if it's a liberation, a blow with a weapon she didn't have before and has been handed just now, and the way she smiles at him afterwards, grateful and relieved, tells him that he just offered her something she needed.

It amazes him that that is apparently something he can do.

Their conversation moves on to other topics after that, but for the rest of the afternoon, Rosaline seems lighter, easier. She even lets him have another glimpse at her private self when she agrees to let him come along on her visit with her old nanny, which clearly makes her happy as well.

By the time they make it to the hotel, there seems to be nothing left of the nervous, insecure woman who burst into tears on his balcony last night. If ever there was a “real” Rosaline Capulet, he knows it has to be the woman with him today: Who opens up about her insecurities rather than letting them bubble up with no warning only to act like nothing happened the next moment. Who eats “Everything Ice-cream” like it's a challenge, and not just some dumb line he made up on the spot (and which sounded a lot better in his head). Who takes time out of a trip intended to distract her from her responsibilities to visit her old nanny, because she may have a sharp tongue but she also has a big heart, and he likes both of those things about her.

Someone who deserves to be treated with honesty and respect, not used as a means to an end.

Which means only one thing: He has to come clean. Tell her about the bet and hope it won't ruin all the trust they've so carefully built today. Maybe she'll understand, he thinks with wild hope, maybe after he told her how bad things are with his uncle and how badly he needed that one shot at success, she can forgive him for making her the price of his shot.

It doesn't sound very convincing even in his own mind.

When he kisses her later outside the hotel and thinks that it feels special, like their first kiss as something real, he can't help but fear that it will turn out to be their last kiss ever.

Because as soon as he's pulled away, Benvolio gathers all his courage and begins:

"Rosaline, there's something I need to…"

He never gets to finish the sentence.

Something bumps into his legs so hard they almost buckle, and from the hotel doorway, a shaky voice calls out:

"Stop him! Somebody stop him!"

 _"Him"_ , it turns out, is the reason Benvolio almost crashed to the ground just now: A dog, one of those tiny yippy ones popular with old ladies and Hollywood starlets, and it's currently racing down the little footpath to the beach with astonishing speed.

Benvolio takes off after it without thinking, only looking back once to spot Rosaline hot on his heels and a tiny, white-haired old woman standing by the hotel entrance, desperately repeating her earlier plea.

"Please catch my Bitzy!"

As much as he wants to help the old woman, catching her beloved Bitzy turns out to be a lot more difficult than one would think. For a creature with such short legs, the little monster is surprisingly fast. It also zigzags like a rabbit, and to make matters worse, it seems to be headed straight to an area of the beach where flat rocks are jutting out into the sea, and signs warn that the shore on this stretch of the beach is littered with sharp rocks and dangerous currents. If Bitzy decides to take a swim here, it won't end well for him.

The dog has already made it to the rocks and is peering over the edge, sniffing the puddles of bracky water pooled in the dips and crevices of the rocks, when Rosaline arrives with a plan.

"Bitzy," she calls out, waving around a dog treat she must have gone back to get from Bitzy's owner, "who's a good boy?"

For a moment, it seems like Bitzy has decided that he is, in fact, a good boy: He approaches them, tail wagging excitedly, and keeps following when Rosaline backs up, still waving her treats, to lure him away from the rocks. It seems to be working too: Bitzy follows her with increasing excitement, leaving behind the dangerous, slippery rocks… and as soon as he's reached Rosaline, he jumps up with surprising agility, snatches the treat right out of her hand, and takes off again.

And Benvolio, having once come to the conclusion that intelligence is no weapon against a devious little pest like Bitzy, makes the spontaneous decision to throw himself at the fleeing dog and tackle him to the ground.

Which does work, at least, but it comes at a price: Benvolio hits the ground hard, not rock luckily but wet, firm sand, and while his hands close around Buffy's pudgy waist, the rest of him lands squarely in a tide pool filled with the same briny water that has gathered on the rocks – and which is now rapidly soaking through the front of his jeans and sweater, smelly and ice-cold.

But it was worth it, he has to tell himself as he struggles to hold on to the wildly struggling Bitzy: they saved a somewhat innocent dog from drowning, they're going to make an old lady very happy, and Rosaline is fussing over him as if he fell into a river of burning lava rather than a shallow pool of cold water. That's a definite plus, he decides – especially when her fussing doesn't stop even after they've handed Bitzy back to his overjoyed owner.

Rosaline pulls him straight upstairs to their room and into the bathroom, and before he knows what's happening, she's starting to strip off his clothes.

"You should get out of these before you catch a cold," she explains as she pulls off his sweater, her no-nonsense voice allowing no protest – but Benvolio has no intention to protest anyway.

It's sweet to see her fretting over him like this, but Benvolio is curious to see how long it will take her to notice that she's essentially taking off his clothes and that, despite the caring nature of the gesture, there could be something else entirely behind it, something that's never far from his mind when he's with her…

By the time she does notice it, she already got him out of his shirt and is working on his belt buckle. Her hands brush his abdomen, warm against his clammy skin, and he sucks in a sharp breath and thinks, vaguely, that he should maybe put a stop to this.

He lays his hands over hers to hold them still, but he can't quite remember what it is he should say, and Rosaline does not offer anything. Her eyes go even darker than usual and he knows she understands what's happening, knows she feels it too.

“Rosaline...”, he begins, breathless and rough, and then she surges forward and he meets her halfway and he _knows_ there's _something_ he's been meaning to talk about... but his mind comes up blank.

Rosaline kisses him with bracing certainty, like the triumph after a battle he must have missed; lets her hands roam over his chest for a moment before returning to her work on his belt buckle, and Benvolio kisses every bit of her skin he can reach, warm and fragrant where his own is clammy and smelly, and once more congratulates himself on bringing her here.

Soon, his belt and fly are open and he pushes down his jeans and kicks them off along with his shoes, and Rosaline, apparently remembering what she set out to do, breaks away to steer him into the shower in just his socks and boxers.

"You need to get warmed up."

Benvolio feels warm enough, but he humors her for the moment and steps into the warm spray – but as soon as he's in the shower, he reaches for her and hauls her in with him, shirt and jeans and all, cutting off her surprised shriek with a kiss.

"Are you _crazy_?" She sounds breathless when she breaks away to scold him – but she doesn't immediately jump out of the shower again.

He flashes her a grin.

“Just making sure I'll _really_ get warmed up.”

She grumbles a little bit about the fact that he now got her clothes wet as well – but only until he's got her out of them, then the grumbling magically stops. What replaces it are soft sighs and eagerly wandering hands and kisses so hot they would have warmed him up without the help of the shower currently steaming up the bathroom.

***

 

They spend the rest of the evening having sex and cuddling and talking, and with every new thing he learns of her, Benvolio's admiration grows. There's the fact, for example, that she practically took care of herself and her sister after her parents died in a car accident, with her aunt and uncle only very nominally involved. She put herself through college and is currently helping her sister get through med school, and really it's no wonder she considered him spoiled before – compared to her, he's living like royalty, and the few conditions attached to that life, his uncle's firm hold over it, seem suddenly not worth all the time he spends revolting against them.

But just like she did that night after their disastrous therapy session, Rosaline doesn't seem to think his problems are ridiculous. She listens and gives advice when he seems to want it, kisses him distractingly when it seems he doesn't, and never makes him feel like the problems with his uncle are all in his head, like he has less of a right to _want_ things.

And the next morning, after she's kissed him goodnight with a sweetness he didn't dare to expect from her, she's still the same Rosaline Capulet he's been trying and failing to approach for what may have been longer than he wants to admit now, bright and sharp and not one to hold back with her opinion. She's not about to go soft on the world all of a sudden – but she has definitely softened around him, and he finds that he likes both versions of her but he might just prefer this one a tiny little bit, because this one has her waking up in his arms and twisting around to give him the lightest of kisses and saying good morning with a sleepy smile that may be the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

While Rosaline slowly blinks awake, Benvolio orders room service and a newspaper to enjoy both in bed. The newspaper is something Rosaline insists on, and frankly Benvolio couldn't care less what's going on with the rest of the world today. But since it seems to be important to Rosaline, he graciously lets her get through current events and international politics before he launches a crusade of distractions that, eventually, leads to more sex.

Thursday morning is spent exclusively inside their room.

Thursday afternoon is strolling along the beach again; is Rosaline perched on top of the boardwalk railing because he dared her to, hands clawing at his shoulders when she thinks she'll lose her balance and easing up when he steps between her legs with steady hands on her waist to promise “I've got you”; is Rosaline's bright laughter and sunlight glinting off the ocean and Benvolio feeling like he's 19 again, holding the girl he's in love with for the summer and knowing that the whole world is on his side.

Thursday evening is driving back to the city, Rosaline fiddling with the radio and then tapping along with the beat when she finds a song she likes, telling him exactly why she likes it and who else recorded it and which version is better; is making out in front of her apartment building for half an hour, parked squarely in a No Parking-zone because they simply can't bring themselves to stop; is Rosaline finally tearing herself away to say goodbye with the softest of smiles and a promise of tomorrow, and Benvolio deciding that he can't tell her about the bet now even if it would be the perfect opportunity, because that would make this moment about Aunt Tessa and the bet and his own _stupidity,_ and he wants it to be about _them_.

He'll tell her about it, soon, and hope for her forgiveness – but not now; not while the taste of salty air and boardwalk ice-cream still seems to linger on her lips.

Tomorrow, he tells himself. _Tomorrow_ , he'll tell her everything.

But tomorrow.... is when it all goes to hell.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone was wondering, there was a song for Rosaline's feelings during the beach trip as well, and it was the one song that gave me most of the feelings for this Story: "Praying for Love" by Arlissa. (I would link to it but somehow I can't figure out how to make links work. So if you want to, just check it out on youtube.) Trust me, it's the perfect morning-after song for that trip, and it's basically where Rosaline is at emotionally at the beginning of this chapter.  
> And now, buckle up - we all know what's coming next.

Benvolio should have known something was up when his uncle took him to the monthly meeting of all the editors-in-chief at _Montague Publishing_ – at his aunt's insistence, because for all of his uncle's talk about upholding the Montague legacy, he seems in no hurry to include Benvolio in any of the important decisions being made in the boardroom, that inner sanctum of the company on the building's top floor, right next to his uncle's office at the Mothership. But today he is to come along, because all the publications are showing off what exciting things they have planned for the next quarter, and his aunt apparently thinks it would be good to have a “younger voice” in the room.

In the end, his “younger voice” isn't really heard at all, first because no one asks, and then, once someone does – his aunt demanding to know what he thinks of her magazine's new shot at going viral – because he can't speak.

Because the viral content is... _him_ , in short. Him, and Rosaline, and the fact that everything he thought they had, what little it was, was apparently a lie.

The video, which Tessa excitedly announces as a “teaser for our next big thing” shows Rosaline, sitting before a pastel pink background stamped with _Glam!_ -logos and laying out a plan so ridiculous he keeps waiting for her to say it's a joke. Surely that premise was not one Rosaline came up with? Let alone _agrees_ with?

But the video ends, the annoyingly peppy music fades out, and Benvolio is still waiting for the punchline on an idea that is somehow offensive to both men and women but especially to him, who thought... who was hoping....

Around him, the other editors-in-chief break into lackluster applause, Tessa switches off her iPad, and Benvolio realises: This was it. It was real. Rosaline's introduction wasn't the set-up for a joke – it was the explanation for everything: Her erratic behavior, the back-and-forth between the perfectly sane, intelligent, interesting woman he's been admiring from afar and the undercover writer who is ticking off items on a list of crazy things to repel men.

But for everything the video clears up, it brings up a bunch of new questions: Was the video the reason she went out with him in the first place? Why did she pick him, of all people? And of all the things that happened between them these past few days, what exactly happened _only_ because of the bet?

Because now that she has stated her list of things not to do, he can see how she tried some of them out on their dates – being jealous and controlling, reacting overly sensitive to all kinds of issues, making outrageous demands or trying to drive a wedge between him and his friends. But then there were also stretches of time where she didn't seem to be working on anything from her list, most notably their first two evenings and the last two days, and he wonders, desperately, if those times at least were about her being with him, and not her doing her research. He hopes that was the case... but right now, hope just isn't enough.

He needs to talk to Rosaline, Benvolio knows, as soon as possible, and find out what really happened. But the meeting drags on, and then today of all days, his uncle decides to make it a teaching opportunity and keeps him there for a long recap afterwards, asking for his opinion on every one of the editors' suggestions when Benvolio can only focus on one of them: Tessa's stupid viral video content, provided by Rosaline, and made with him as her unknowing subject.

The longer he thinks about it, the angrier he gets. He was an _assignment_ to her, nothing else, and all the while thinking that maybe she... that maybe they could _be_ something, once he got the terrible truth of the bet off his chest, and managed to get her to forgive him for entering it in the first place.

As if summoned by the mere thought of what happened and her involvement in it, his aunt glides by outside the floor-to-ceiling glass doors of uncle Damiano's office, turning her head to smile at him gleefully before she walks onto the elevator, and Benvolio realises: Tessa played them both. He never stood a chance, and neither did Rosaline.

But even knowing that they've been played doesn't really make things any better: Because Tessa may have set them both up to lose – but they still entered her game willingly.

 

***

On Friday morning, Rosaline recalls dragging herself into work with a hangover three days ago and wondering how on earth she could have believed then that she must be the most pitiable creature around. Granted, that hangover was bad. But overall? Overall, her life feels pretty good right now. Well, her love life, at the very least – she's still stuck with her horrible aunt and uncle and her soul-consuming job. But feeling like she does today, stronger and lighter at the same time, suddenly these things don't seem to have as much power over her life as they used to.

Rosaline is happy, ridiculously so, and there's one person to blame for it – the very same person she still owes a big apology to. But he's worth it, she knows, even worth the confrontation with Tessa she'll have to have before she explains everything to Benvolio; a confrontation that is bound to get ugly. But there's no way around it: As she has decided (perhaps a little cowardly) at around the same time as she joined Benvolio in the shower two nights ago, the best way to prove that she may have started this thing for the assignment but she wants to continue it for _him_ is to eliminate the assignment part altogether, and that means telling Tessa she's out before she confesses the whole thing to Benvolio. This way, they'll truly get the opportunity for a fresh start.

She should have known it wouldn't be that easy.

Rosaline has just returned from getting her third cup of coffee – to have something to do more than because she actually needs it – when Tessa finally walks by, returning from her meeting with the other editors-in-chief in an eerily good mood.

“Rosaline! Hard at work editing your video, I hope? I just showed your teaser to the other editors-in-chief, so they'll definitely expect the full version at the board meeting tomorrow. Did you see the teaser yet? Our two million instagram followers will be anxiously waiting for it when it finally comes out tomorrow.”

Rosaline has spent the past two hours mentally hyping herself up to face Tessa, carefully choosing her words – but this announcement topples over all her preparations.

“A teaser? You mean like for a movie?”

Tessa nods excitedly. “Yes! We're going to start doing this for our big video pieces from now on, create some buzz beforehand.”

She pulls up _Glam!_ 's homepage on Rosaline's computer, presses play on the video embedded in the middle of the first page along with the most recently published articles, and suddenly Rosaline is watching herself, sitting in the little recording-studio Tessa had installed recently; equipped with cameras, lights and a soft pink background-screen covered in the _Glam!-_ logo.

The snippet is from her introduction, where she laid out the plan for her video: Find a guy, then test all the things women do that drive men off. She counts them on her hands, and for each of them, an emoji pops up on the screen – the princess for entitlement, the angry red-faced emoji for irritability, the shackles for clinginess, and so on. It's not how Rosaline would have edited her video – but it doesn't matter, because no one is going to see that video anyway.

“I had Valentina edit it from the footage you've got so far,” Tessa explains. “I've also asked her to look for some stock footage because, well, we couldn't actually film you doing all that stuff, though I'm sure it would have been hilarious. ”

Yeah, Rosaline thinks sarcastically, _hilarious,_ not at all illegal and inhumane and the stupidest thing she's ever done. But she doesn't have the time to point this out now – the more important thing is to stop Tessa from releasing that teaser before she's had a chance to talk to Benvolio. And, of course, tell her that the video is not happening, no matter what material Valentina pulls out her ass.

“That's great, Tessa, but...” She takes a deep breath. God, this is terrifying – but she reminds herself of Benvolio, smiling as he watched her wake up last morning, looking at her like she hung the moon all day yesterday, sending her a picture of her and the Franken-ice-cream this morning, and she knows she has to do this. “There's not going to be a video.”

“Excuse me?” Tessa's eyebrows, thin and sharp no matter what current fashion may have to say, slowly rise up on her forehead. “Are you having technical problems? I'm sure Valentina can help with that.”

“No. I'm not having technical problems, I'm just not doing the assignment. It's unethical, and wrong, and, frankly, bullshit.”

Tessa studies her silently for an unnervingly long moment. But just when Rosaline expects her to start yelling, her boss – laughs.

“Oh dear. You fell for him, didn't you? Less than ten days, and he's got you wrapped around his finger. I have to say, I'm surprised – I honestly thought you would come out of this the winner.”

“The _w_ _inner_?” Rosaline repeats incredulously. “There is no _winner_ here! It was a terrible assignment from the start, and I can only hope Benvolio doesn't sue my ass off when I tell him.”

“Oh, trust me, he won't.” Even more puzzling than her earlier laugh is the beatific smile now plastered on Tessa's face. It morphs into something softer – pity? – as Tessa takes Rosaline's hand, a mockery of a caring gesture. “Rosaline, darling, I wasn't going to say anything because, well, I didn't think it was necessary. But if you're going to be so squeamish about my nephew's feelings, I really should tell you: he's not in any danger. The only reason he asked you out is because his friends dared him to, and I promised to help him get the green light for his ridiculous magazine. I figured, given the parameters of your mission, you were in the perfect position to give him a hell of a time."

She smiles, perversely cheerful.

“So you see, there's no problem at all. You can finish your video today and post it tomorrow, no harm done. I'll even let you get away with the fact that apparently, my nephew is still diligently working on his own assignment so you didn't _technically_ lose him – the odds really were stacked against you there.”

“What?” Rosaline croaks, her sluggish brain still struggling to compute all the information that was just dumped out over her. “Benvolio is doing _what_?”

“He said he could get any woman to fall in love with him.” She musters Rosaline measuringly, pity mixing with disappointment on her face. “And from the looks of it, he wasn't exaggerating.”

Tessa gets up again, leaving her half-drunk cup of coffee on Rosaline's table.

“I must say, I'm a little disappointed. I thought you were a sharp, independent girl. I never would have thought _you_ would fall for his tricks.”

With that, she walks away a few steps, only to pause and turn around once more.

“You know, why don't you take a little break? You look awful. Get some coffee, some fresh air. Maybe swing by the make-up people and ask them go give you some samples? I'll ask Valentina to post the teaser to our social media.” She reaches out to take Rosaline's hand and squeeze it once more. “Don't worry, we'll make sure your first video is a hit. People will love you – we'll turn you into a youtube-guru in no time, and my nephew can rot in hell for treating you like this. And don't worry – he'll only get the money if he gets you to come to tomorrow's gala as his date. Which I'm guessing is not going to happen – you _have_ to have more dignity than that.”

Then Tessa sweeps off, the click-clack of her Louboutins the only sound that penetrates the fog in Rosaline's head. Without consciously deciding to, Rosaline gets to her feet as well, not to follow Tessa's advice but because the thought of continuing to sit at her desk and stare at the video, muted but still continuing to replay on an endless loop, is suddenly unbearable. She wants to cry or wreck something or yell at someone – and then it occurs to her that of course, the only person she should be yelling at right now is in this very building.

In the back of her mind there's the thought that by choosing Benvolio as her guinea pig, she used him just as much as he used her. But the thought doesn't really get a chance to take root before a wave of red-hot anger crushes over her. The thing is, she recalls as she stands in the elevator up to the fifteenth floor, where he resides at The Mothership, what she liked most about Benvolio was how genuine he always seemed.

How _honest_.

She lets out a bitter laugh, startling the white-haired man in the elevator with her into clutching his briefcase tighter and subtly moving away from her.

Rosaline only rolls her eyes, too angry at one man to deal with being pissed at another.

 _Honesty_ , that was what she liked first about Benvolio – his stance on dating, his believable delivery of the most outrageous lines, his seemingly genuine concern for her whenever her behavior got a little too erratic, his willingness to open up about his issues with his uncle... All of it seemed so real, so earnest.

Now she wonders if any of it was ever true.

She doesn't have much more time to wonder, however: The elevator opens on the fifteenth floor and standing before it is Benvolio, pacing up and down with a stormy expression only to stop in his tracks when he spots her storming off the elevator.

Before she can say anything, he starts:

“I saw your little teaser at the meeting this morning – looks like you've got a video just waiting to go viral.”

Oh, so that's how he wants to do this – accuse her of being an ass and conveniently forget what _he_ did? Well, that's not going to happen.

“While I hear you've been working on a little _project_ of your own.”

Advancing on him, she lets loose the torrent of anger that has built up on the seemingly endless elevator ride up here.

“Really, Ben, a _bet_? What is this, a 90s teen movie? How tacky can you _be_?”

“And I guess what _you_ did is prize-winning investigative journalism, huh? I guess you skipped the ethics course in your journalism major, or you would have known not to play with someone's feelings just for a fucking video.”

"Your _feelings_? Give me a break! I was horrible to you the entire time; you were never in danger of falling for me! But I..." But _she_ _was_ , Rosaline almost blurts out. "Well, at least _I_ wasn't pretending to be a _better_ person than I am."

"You weren't horrible the entire time though. And when you weren't pretending to be a shrieking harpy, you were...", he halts, stumbling over his words just like she did before. Then he laughs bitterly. "But I guess that was all part of your little play too, wasn't it? Throwing me a bone every once in a while to keep me hanging on?"

"That doesn't even make sense! If I was seriously trying to drive you off, why would I want to keep you hanging on?"

"I don't know - to make your triumph more satisfying? To get more material for your video? “ _Ten Ways to Lose Any Guy_ ”," he sarcastically quotes the title plastered in neon-pink letters across that damned teaser video. "I hope you remembered to put "lie to his face" on there."

"It seems like lying your ass off worked pretty well for you too."

"You know what? I _never_ lied to you. Every word I said, every time I kissed you, that was _real_. That was me thinking you were a smart, beautiful, amazing woman, and I was lucky to be spending time with you. The only thing I ever did for that bet was go up and talk to you that first night."

Rosaline wants to believe it _so badly_ , wants to listen to her instinct that says to trust him, but she doesn't know what's real and what isn't anymore.

"Oh _please_! You never would have stuck around through all the crap I pulled if it wasn't for the bet!"

"And you wouldn't have given me the time of day if it weren't for your stupid video."

It's the truth, but when she confirms it, it's only to be vindictive.

"You're right – I wouldn't have."

He looks genuinely hurt now, and knowing what she does about him now, about the insecurities he hides behind his happy-go-lucky façade, she can only imagine what it will do to him to hear her say that their time together was never about him.

Then again, it wasn't really about _her_ either, was it?

The thought comes to her at the same moment his expression closes off, and she knows that this is it: Neither of them is going to come back from this point.

"Well, congratulations on your big scoop. I hope it really makes a difference for women."

With that last remark, dripping in sarcasm meant only to belittle and not entertain, Benvolio stalks off.

Rosaline looks after him forlornly, desperately trying to hold on to her anger so that the sadness around its edges doesn't get a chance to sneak in any further.

It made a difference for this one woman, she knows – but it doesn't seem like that matters anymore.

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a short chapter, but an important one.

The afternoon following the big blow-up is a bit of a blur. Rosaline spends an undefinable amount of time pacing up and down the street outside the _Montague_ _Publishing_ building, bumping into tourists and trying to pull herself together enough to return to the _Glam_! offices and get back to work somehow, regardless of the fact that work is a soul-destroying hellscape ruled over by a woman who considers the lives and feelings of everyone around her little more than her personal entertainment.

By the time she realizes she's not going to get herself under control enough to return to work, Rosaline's phone is ringing. Apparently, Livia heard from Isabella that something happened, because Isabella knows _everything_ that happens at _Montague_ _Publishing_ wether it takes place on the fifth floor or the fifteenth, and Livia's first instinct is always to make sure everyone is alright.

But Livia, as much as she tries, doesn't succeed in helping her either: Ever the optimist, her sister suggests that maybe Benvolio was saying the truth earlier. Maybe he really _did_ start to care about her for real, just like she was...

Rosaline tells her sister not to be silly: They're dealing with a man who could charm anyone into anything and who used that questionable talent on her for his personal gain, and that's all there is to the story.

But long after she has hung up the phone, Livia's words still stay with her. Because the thing is: Finding out that Benvolio asked her out for a bet, and all the hurt and anger that came with it, _still_ wasn't enough to erase the memories of those two bright, precious days by the sea. And the more she thinks about those moments, the more she wants to believe that, bet or not, they were _real_.

After all, she too started out with an ulterior motive - and yet, those two days, and plenty of moments before, had nothing to do with her assignment. Conversations, smiles, kisses... for her, so many of them were not about the assignment, to the point where she had to actively remind herself of it. Their time together _meant_ something to her, a little more each day, even while she kept working on her assignment. So what if it really was the same for him? Earlier, when they were yelling at each other in front of the elevator, Benvolio claimed it was; that he simply enjoyed spending time with her. He called her _beautiful_ and _smart_ and _amazing_ , and not in a way that seemed designed merely to pacify her. No, those words sounded like he couldn't stop himself from saying them even if he hadn't planned to, like they were a truth he couldn't contain in the heat of the moment.

She can't quite bring herself to believe it yet, too scared of giving herself hope for something she might have already lost. But the seed of hope is planted, and it's in that moment that a message from an unknown number pops up on her phone.

_Rosaline, I know you're mad at Benvolio right now. But you have to believe me: He really is crazy about you._

Three dots underneath the message indicate that the person is still typing, so Rosaline holds off on her questions.

_Like, ridiculously._

_Give him another chance, please?_

And while she's still momentarily confused, one more message arrives:

_Oh, and it's Mercutio btw. Juliet gave me your number._

This still leaves a certain amount of hows and whys uncovered, but Rosaline can't really focus on them right now. She's too busy staring at one part of Mercutio's message in particular: _He's crazy about you._

But before Rosaline can come to a decision on what to do with this information, she gets another phone call: Tessa is calling to remind her that she still has a video due the next day – and something inside her snaps. How dare the woman assume she can treat her like this – blackmail her, manipulate her into betraying her ethics, belittle her for wanting to correct her course – and then still expect her to go through with that dehumanizing assignment?

At this point, her raging wish to tell Tessa where she can shove her video somehow mingles with the half-finished thought prompted by Mercutio's messages: That if he was telling the truth and Benvolio really did care about her maybe she should fight for a chance to see where they could go without any lies between them.

And out of nowhere, a reckless voice inside her head prompts: _"Why not do both?"_

"I'll finish the video today," she promises her boss, forcing her voice to stay even.

"That's my girl," Tessa coos back, and Rosaline wonders how on Earth a part of her ever admired that woman.

By the time she gets back to her apartment, Rosaline has a video outlined in her head.

 

***

There are a few preparations still left to make: Props to produce, a camera and her amateur attempt at flattering lighting to set up, then Rosaline sits down in front of the camera, takes a deep breath, and begins speaking.

“Hi, I'm Rosaline.“ She waves awkwardly at the camera, not entirely sure how this entire vlogging thing works yet but determined to power through somehow. “As some of you may have seen from the trailer we posted this morning, I've recently done a little experiment for _Glam!_ magazine: _How_ _To Lose a Guy in 10 Days_. The plan was to make a list of all those things women sometimes do that supposedly drive men away and test them all in reality: Find one guy and drive him off with the combined power of insecurity, clinginess and entitlement. Easy enough, right? At least, that's what I was supposed to tell you in this video.”

She takes another deep breath.

“But if I did, I would be lying. Because everything went horribly wrong. And I'm going to tell you exactly how – in just six steps, because it turns out majorly fucking someone over and breaking your own heart in the process is easier than it seems.”

She laughs a little, as if this was actually funny – as if she hadn't used a _real_ person as a guinea pig, and been used by them in turn. As if this whole thing wasn't completely fucked up; as if she wasn't crazy for thinking that making this video is going to achieve anything at all; that she's going to get a happy ending out of this somehow. That she _deserves_ one in the first place.

Steeling herself, Rosaline holds up the sign she drew, a big black “Step 1” on white cardboard.

“Step 1, of course, is to accept the assignment in the first place, even though you know it's incredibly unethical. Like, what kind of self-respecting journalist would ever test a half-baked, pseudo-psychological theory on an unsuspecting person like that, without their knowledge or consent?”

She points to herself, smiles bitterly.

“This one, apparently, because I went out, found a guy to be my guinea pig, and got to work. Now, the trick to this step is simple: I only had to tell myself that he's a fuckboy, and probably deserves to get treated like shit.”

The second sign makes its appearance, announcing Step 2.

“And this is basically where it started going downhill already.” She chuckles. “Yeah, I know – didn't even make it past the first two steps without fucking up. Because you see, the guy I picked wasn't a fuckboy at all but a genuinely decent dude, and it took me a lot less than ten days to figure it out.” Another laugh, and Rosaline is wondering if she's beginning to sound a little unhinged yet. “But did that stop me?” She shakes her head and wags her finger at the camera while reaching for the next sign.

“It did not. Which brings us to,” she holds up the sign, “Step 3. Now this one was supposed to be the key to this whole experiment, the part where I test out all the “crazy chick”-things that supposedly drive men away – which, just to be clear, is misogynistic bullshit in the first place. And I did test those things, in more and more crazy ways – but unfortunately, whenever I took a break from the crazy and allowed myself to just hang out with my test subject, I kept forgetting what I was actually there for. I laughed at his jokes, and it wasn't about stroking his ego but because he's actually pretty funny. I got thrown a little off-track every time he smiled.”

She has to force herself to keep going at this point, because, well, she's not really eager to tell her deepest darkest thoughts to the world, especially when those thoughts are about how very close she has come to falling in love with _Benvolio Montague_.

“I found that I genuinely liked spending time with him, and that I looked forward to seeing him again even if it was only to torture him.” She smiles again, self-deprecating, and thinks randomly that Valentina would probably praise her for being so _#relatable_.

“So now,” she pulls herself together before she can completely dissolve into a puddle of emotions, “we're in a bit of a pickle because we were supposed to be horrible to this guy but instead we ended up falling for him. But it's no problem because this is where we turn to Step 4: We tell him everything, come completely clean, and sort everything out. Except-” she pauses, not for dramatic effect but because she's remembering Benvolio's face when he confronted her in the lobby, that look of utter betrayal. “Except I fucked up this step, majorly.”

By now, her hands are shaking and she has trouble holding up the next sign, which she has to fumble out from underneath the sign for Step 4 after completely forgetting to even hold it up.

“So now I have to resort to Step 5: I tell my boss that this assignment was the worst thing I ever did. I took it for selfish reasons and because she pressured me to, and I hate myself for doing it. Which is why-” she takes a deep breath, waiting for panic to set in – but there is no fear, only the conviction that she's doing the right thing. “I quit. I'll post this one last video, which will probably get taken down again, and then I'll send off my resignation, and I promise myself and my readers and viewers that wherever my professional future takes me, I will do better.”

Her throat feels scratchy now, her eyes watery, but she fumbles for the last sign: Step 6.

“Which leaves me with only one thing left to do: Apologize.” She closes her eyes for a moment, tries to sort her thoughts, before looking straight into the camera again. “Ben, if there's a chance you're watching this, I want you to know I'm sorry. You did not deserve this. You deserve to be happy. And if you give me another chance, I'll do everything I can to make sure you are."

She's definitely crying now, which is beyond ridiculous but she can't help it, can't do more than wipe away the first tear escaping the corner of her eye.

“So this is it – my six steps to fucking things up. Don't do this at home, kids!”

She switches off the camera just before she can start crying for good, letting out a relieved sigh. She has no idea if this is the best idea she ever had or the worst one – but she knows she has to do _something_ , and this seems like a good, thorough way to come clean.

Unlike _Glam_!'s usual style, this video doesn't get any editing – no cutesy glitter effects, no subtitles, no emojis. Rosaline doesn't trust herself not to chicken out if she looks at this thing for much longer. Instead, she types up a quick introductory text, including a link to the teaser Tessa posted this morning, then she uploads the video to _Glam_!'s website and various social media channels. She has no doubt Tessa is going to take the thing down as soon as she realises what's going on (and Tessa always knows what's going on!), but for now, she wants to give it a chance to get spread as far and wide as possible.

But just in case it doesn't reach Benvolio before it gets axed again, she sends him the link via messenger, surprised and hopeful to find that he hasn't blocked her number yet – which means she could just write and apologize to him directly, but somehow, that seems even scarier than doing it before millions of subscribers on the internet. Funny how that works.

Then she closes her laptop, turns her phone on silent, and takes a long, hot bath.

 


	13. Chapter 13

Romeo Montague has a natural inclination towards the dramatic, and so Benvolio has learned over the years to take it with a grain of salt when his cousin declares something "life-changing", "mind-blowing" or "fucking legendary".

So when, on the way home from work after a long and laughably unproductive day, Romeo sends him the link to a video with the claim that it constitutes "a total game changer" and the recommendation (in all caps) to "WATCH IT RIGHT NOW!", Benvolio ignores it - only to receive a call from his cousin not one minute later.

"So, did you watch it?"

"I just got off work, so no."

He wants to add that he's also not in the mood for funny cat videos or crazy parkour stubts or whatever is going viral at the moment, but he hasn't told Romeo or Mercutio about what happened yet, intending instead to drown his sorrows alone tonight. The last thing they heard of him was when he texted them both after dropping off Rosaline last night: "I'm calling off the bet", was all he wrote, and when they both asked why, he only wrote back: "Because it was wrong." He considered adding the other reason for his decision: That he was pretty sure he's falling in love with Rosaline Capulet, and he wanted a chance at a fresh start with her. He didn't tell them that in the end, because it would have only led to requests for a recap of their trip and he wasn't quite ready to give it then – it felt like something private and precious, something just for him and Rosaline.

Now of course, he knows it was none of those things.

But he hasn't told Romeo about that either, too hurt and embarrassed to find it in him to talk about it – wich makes it all the more surprising when Romeo says:

"Yeah, but you're gonna want to watch that video. It's by Rosaline, and it explains  _everything_."

"I already know  _everything_ ," he barks back, too harsh considering his cousin doesn't know about that editors' meeting and the fight he had with Rosaline. "I already saw the video this morning. I spoke to her. I was an assignment to her, nothing else."

 _And she was a bet to you_ , a voice accuses in his head, but he knows the voice is wrong: That was never  _all_  she was to him.

"Yeah, I know, dating you was an assignment. But there's a lot more to it. And what you saw was only the teaser, sanctioned by Tessa. Trust me, this video? Our dear aunt definitely had nothing to do with it. This one is all Rosaline, and you need to watch it _now_."

He pauses, interrupted by a female voice in the background saying something Benvolio can't quite make out.

"And then you need to go speak to her, Juliet says, and to tell you that Rosaline didn't  _want_  to do the assignment, she had to do it because Tessa was going to humiliate Livia or fire Rosaline if she refused.”

This is a lot of information to take in, especially when he's still stuck on the first piece of it.

"Who's Ju-… Rosaline's  _cousin_? Are you with them now?"

"Not with all of them, just Juliet. I'll explain later. Now go watch the video.”

With that, he hangs up, and Benvolio gives in to his increasing curiosity and decides to just watch the stupid video, sitting on a nearby bench and putting in his earplugs before he hits play. He was about to take the long way home anyway, a meandering route through Central Park with plenty of time to brood and pity himself, so he might as well take a break now and resume the brooding later.

He isn't sure what Romeo thinks the video might do for him. He's been thinking about calling Rosaline all day, some naively optimistic part of him hoping that perhaps a simple "sorry" will be enough to undo what he did. But whenever he picked up his phone, he remembered the second part of the story, the part where she lied to him just as he lied to her. And, over and over again, he replayed in his mind the moment he told her she wouldn't have given him the time of day if not for the assignment and she confirmed it. That part had hurt the most, because it confirmed the very thing he's always afraid of: That no one ever gives him a shot for  _him_. But with her, those last two days, he thought things were different...

He stops himself from going down that mental road again, for the thousandth time since this morning, and taps on the link instead.

The start of the video seems very similar to the one he watched this morning, Rosaline sitting in front of a neutral background and looking at the camera. But this is already where the similarities end. Instead of the _Glam_!-logo on sickly-sweet pink, the background is a simple cream color, drywall or blank wallpaper, the audio when she starts talking is not as crisp as it was in the studio-produced teaser, and Rosaline herself looks a little worse for wear too, eyes puffy and face grim and drawn.

But what she says comes across loud and clear, even if it takes him two more rewatches of the video to really get it. By the third time, he has sorted through the video enough to pick out the most important bits: Rosaline started dating him as part of an assignment, with the goal of driving him off again to demonstrate how women supposedly chase off men (still a ridiculous premise, and he's glad she acknowledges it) – this much he already learned this morning.

But all the rest is indeed both mind-blowing and life-changing, as Romeo would put it: She regrets taking on that assignment, so much that she actually quits her job in the video. She  _liked_  spending time with him; liked  _him_. And most importantly: She wants to give him another chance. Is asking him to give  _her_  another chance in the video, which is just completely mind-boggling because clearly, he's the bigger ass here – at the very least, she did what she did to help someone else, and not just herself.

In the end, what convinces him to actually believe what he's hearing is watching Rosaline as she says it, observing the play of emotions across her face: Nervousness, embarrassment, guilt, fondness... hope. He's never seen her display such emotion towards him before their ten days together – the best he could hope for was barely concealed disdain, or annoyance if he managed to pester her long enough. Watching her, who's been so careful with her emotions, bare herself before thousands of viewers on the internet just to ask him to forgive her – there's really only one thing to do after that.

***

 

By the time Rosaline feels brave enough to look at her phone again, it's blowing up: Dozens of notifications on  _Glam!'_ s social media accounts, where her video with the link to her post is getting liked and shared like crazy; a barrage of messages from Livia and Juliet - and five missed calls from Tessa.

Nothing from the person she wanted to hear from.

Which is an irrational thing to be disappointed about, she knows – after all, it's barely been an hour since she posted the video. There's a good chance he hasn't even seen it yet, and won't for some time. And even then, there's no reason to assume he'll react to it. If she wanted to make sure of that, she'd have to be brave enough to talk to him directly, and she isn't.

She sends quick replies to Livia and Juliet telling them that she's okay but that she doesn't want to talk, ignores Tessa's calls, and goes to bed.

Sleep won't come though, and just as she's about to get up again and get herself some wine, there's a soft plinging sound, so strange and hard to place that she first decides to ignore it. But the sound is repeated a second and third time, and only when she spots a flash of movement out of the corner of her eye does she realise what it is: someone is throwing pebbles at her window - and with a traitorous clench of her stomach, she knows theres only one person she wants it to be.

When she opens the window, another missive almost hits her in the face.

"Montague?" Another little jump of her insides as she sees him, standing on the sidewalk and looking up at her. "I have a doorbell, you know."

"But you said your landlady gives you crap about people ringing it at night."

She did say that, at some point during their first evening, and the fact that he remembered stuns her for a moment.

"So, are you going to let me in?."

"Right. Yeah."

She remains frozen for another moment, looking down on him and trying to calm the storm inside her. This is what she wanted – for him to talk to her about what happened. She just isn't sure she's ready for what he's going to say.

Still, Rosaline gathers her courage, slams shut the window and hastens to the door, not even allowing herself more than a quick look at the hallway mirror. She doesn't exactly look ravishing, but she did put on fresh pyjamas earlier, so that's something at least.

With a deep breath to steel herself, she opens the door.

"Hi."

"Hi."

For a moment they're just standing there, looking at each other awkwardly, then Rosaline steps back and gestures for him to come inside.

"How are…", she starts, attempting small talk out of some ingrained instinct, but he cuts her off.

"I saw your video. Romeo called me so he could yell at me to “ _watch it right now_ ”. I think your cousin made him do it."

"We're very persuasive, us Capulets. It's a family trait," Rosaline rambles, as if her family was what he came here to talk about.

But Benvolio isn't quite finished with the topic yet.

“She also told Romeo that the reason you took on the assignment was to protect your sister from something bad my aunt was planning.”

Rosaline nods slowly, and Benvolio sighs.

“I really should have taken the time to warn you that my aunt is the literal antichrist.”

She has to laugh at this, an apt description of Tessa if she ever heard one.

“I still shouldn't have done the assignment. I should have found some way around it...”

"You did what you thought you had to do,” Benvolio says, and it sounds so much like forgiveness Rosaline feels hope rising inside her. That hope is only fuelled by the way he's looking at her as he steps closer to ask: “What you said in your video – did you mean that? All of it?"

Rosaline nods, a little dazed under the intensity of his gaze. "Every word."

She takes a steadying breath, begins "And I really am…" - and doesn't get any further before Benvolio is cutting her off, crowding her back against the chest of drawers in the hallway to kiss her.

She thinks vaguely that maybe they should talk about all of this first - but then again, Benvolio makes a valid argument _against_  talking.

She lets him have this point, lets herself fall into the kiss and finds that it's just as easy to get lost in him as it was before. But it's different too - maybe because now, having faced the prospect of losing what they were starting to have, they've learned just how much they want it. They've learned how much it could mean, how much it _already_ means, and the realisation, painful when it came at the heels of betrayal, turns gloriously, almost unbearably sweet now. 

When Benvolio pulls back for a moment, Rosaline can't pass up the opportunity to tease him a little - because she can; because there may be important things to talk about but the most important ones have been cleared up: That they're both sorry, that they both never meant to hurt each other, and that they both want their relationship to move on, no longer the result of two individual bad decisions but one joint good one. 

At least, she hopes that's what they _both_ want.

"You didn't want to wait what I was going to say?"

"I assumed you were going to say that you're desperately in love with me."

She laughs, as he intended, and feels her heart flutter fondly at the proud little smile her laughter evokes in him. 

"I was going to say I'm sorry."

"You already said that in your video. And if you'd said it again now then I would have said that I'm sorry too, and we would have spent the next half hour apologizing when all I wanted was to kiss you."

"Is that so?", Rosaline says, leaning in again as if taking his words as a suggestion, and Benvolio meets her halfway, so close she'd only have to stretch up the tiniest bit to kiss him again.

"Mhm," she can feel him hum against her lips, "and I wasn't done yet."

By the time they break apart again, she's tempted to pull him straight to her bedroom,  messy though it may be. But no, they really  _should_  talk about what happened first; figure out where they're going from it.

Everything else, she hopes, will come later.

Benvolio seems to agree, because he doesn't stop her when she pulls him past the bedroom and into the living-room, steering them both over to her small couch.

“You know, you're the one who already apologized. I haven't.” He takes a deep breath, preparing for something difficult. “So, I'm sorry. From the bottom of my heart. Taking that stupid bet was... the worst thing I've ever done. It was inexcusable. And it seems like you only did that assignment because my aunt forced your hand but I... well, I took the bet because she promised she'd get my uncle's okay and financial backing for a magazine idea I've been dreaming of, for years now. I heard that and I just... I don't know, I guess it completely shut off my brain.”

He smiles sheepishly before he continues.

“I kept telling myself it wasn't that bad – I would make sure you wouldn't get hurt. I wouldn't promise you anything I didn't plan to deliver. I  _definitely_  wouldn't sleep with you...” Another sheepish grin. “And then, from the very first evening, I knew I didn't want to stop seeing you after the ten days were over. Which sort of made it feel like I was genuinely just in it for you, and the bet was just a bonus.” Now he huffs, his little smile making way for a flash of anger – at himself, she realizes. “I was such an idiot.”

Somehow, he seems to think that in a situation where they both acted despicably, he's still the worse person, and Rosaline wants to assure him he's not - but Benvolio isn't quite finished with his self-deprecating rant.

“Honestly, the fact that you're even willing to still talk to me, to give me another chance, is kind of blowing my mind. I keep expecting to wake up and find that I dreamed the whole thing.”

He looks genuinely awed by this, and Rosaline can feel her heart melting a little bit.

“Want me to pinch you?”, she offers teasingly, and he declines with a laugh.

“I'll just have to trust in my senses.” He demonstrates how he plans to use his senses right away; taking her legs and draping them over his lap as if to make sure she's really here by feeling her against him. The action not only brings her closer but leaves his hand to rest promisingly on her thigh, and she has to force herself not to focus on it too much, especially when he begins to softly rub his thumb along the edge of her pyjama shorts.

 _Later_ , she reminds herself.

“I get it, you know – wanting that chance to do your own thing.” After what he told her of his uncle, the thought of getting a chance to prove himself must have been to tempting to resist, and given her own need for independence, she can empathize. “And support _and_ financial backing, from Tessa? I would have jumped at the chance too, before she could change her mind. I don't blame you for making that deal with the devil.”

She looks at him as her words sink in, waits for proof that he really believes her.  

“So I'm forgiven?”

“Yes,” Rosaline confirms, annoyed at herself for not putting it this bluntly before. “You're forgiven.”

There's such enormous relief on his face Rosaline can't help but feel a little flattered.  _That's_  how much he wants them to have that second chance; how much he wants  _her_? It feels hard to wrap her head around - but while her head is still catching up with the realization, her insides are already buzzing with pleasant warmth.

There is still one question left to ask, however:

"Why me?"

"Romeo and Mercutio suggested it, to make things difficult - you didn't exactly have a history of being very receptive to my charm." He grins wrily. "It wasn't much more than a joke at my expense, before Tessa overheard us and stepped in."

"But why did you go along, if they only picked me because they thought you'd never stand a chance?" She narrows her eyes. "Are you one of those " _I can't resist a challenge_ "-type of men? Because usually those just don't want to take no for an answer."

He laughs. "You really don't suffer "fuckboys" gladly, do you? But no, it wasn't that. Part of it was that aunt Tessa gave me some additional incentive, as you know now. But I think…." he pauses to rub the back of his neck, an adorably flustered gesture, "I think secretly I've been waiting a long time for an excuse to ask you out." He masks his moment of vulnerability with a lopsided smile. "It was a “two birds with one stone”-kind of situation."

"How _romantic_.”

"Hey, I think we've established that neither of us went into this with pure intentions." He reaches out to trap her fidgeting hands in his. "But the important thing should be what we're getting out of it, right? And I think that could be pretty great. After all," he smiles smugly, “no one's ever made a video about how much they love me before.”

“I didn't say...”

He cuts her off with a kiss, and Rosaline huffs irritatedly but lets him, melting against him once more.

Still, as tempting as it is to just keep on making out, there is one thing she still has to point out.

“I want you to know that I may have started dating you because of the video – but I continued because of  _you_. And all the good moments, they were real for me too: Our first night, the museum date, the trip... that was all real."

"You only faked the crazy parts?"

"Yes," she laughs, letting him put his arm around her and pull her closer until she's half-draped across his lap, "I only faked the crazy parts."

"Just making sure. I mean, don't get me wrong, I'd put up with the crazy parts to get the rest of you, but I'm also not opposed to getting just the good parts. You know...", he presses a kiss to her cheek, “the fun,” another kiss, this one to the edge of her jaw, and Rosaline's pulse quickens, “smart,” his lips travel on to her neck, and she lets her head fall back a little, “ _sexy_  parts.”

She smiles, tries to keep her mind clear long enough to tease him just a little more.

“Oh, so that's what you're after – the _sexy_ _parts_.”

“I'm after  _all_  of you. But I definitely don't _mind_  the sexy parts.”

And since Rosaline doesn't mind the sexy parts of him either and they really have talked enough now, she gets up and pulls him into the bedroom. They've sufficiently established that they were both assholes – now they can just be assholes together, and see where it takes them.

***

 

Much later, something else occurs to her:  

“Remind me to hit Isabella up for a dress tomorrow,” she mumbles, nestled comfortably in Benvolio's arms and half asleep already.

“Who's Isabella?”

“She's in charge of fashion at  _Glam!_ ,” Rosaline answers, before she remembers something that makes her chuckle. “You know her, actually – she played our couples' therapist.”

“You mean to say that woman  _wasn't_  a real therapist?”

Benvolio sounds outraged, but when she turns around in his arms to look at him, there's a smile tugging at his lips.

“I'm afraid not. Which is a good thing, because it means you'll never actually get that invoice for the 300 dollar fee.”

“She did a good job, I'll have to give her that.” He pauses to think of something. “Why do you need a dress though? I hope you're not planning on going on a hot date with someone else.”

It's a joke, obviously, but she likes the implication behind it: That there's no question about either of them dating someone else. If they're going to do this, it's not going to be casual.

“I'm planning on attending a gala, actually. And it's tomorrow, so I doubt I'll have time to buy a dress.”

Benvolio raises his eyebrows questioningly.

“That's what it takes for you to win this bet, isn't it? For me to come to the company gala as your date?”

Now the penny drops, and there's an expression of such awe and relief on his face that it makes her want to go right back to kissing him, just for being the way he is. But before she can do so, he nods.

“And to look like you're in love with me.”

Rosaline makes a face. “Ah, now that might be a problem...”

That earns her a teasing pinch to the waist – but the fact that it  _is_  teasing, and that his smile indicates he got the joke, makes her hopeful: She got him to believe that she really is in this for  _him_.

And then she does give in and kiss him, and all talk of galas and dresses is soon forgotten. She was wrong earlier, Rosaline thinks: There  _are_  winners in this messed-up situation after all.

And three months later, when Rosaline has been recruited by her favorite feminist online magazine and Benvolio is busy planning his art magazine with seed money supplied by a very begrudging Tessa, Rosaline can honestly say that taking on that assignment was the best thing she ever did. 

Of course, she'd rather bite off her own tongue than say any such thing to  _Tessa_. But she does regularly say it to Benvolio - and she always enjoys the way it makes him smile, awed and grateful and a little bit smug, and the way that smile makes her stomach flutter and her heart beat a little faster in expectation of the kiss sure to follow it. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, somewhat surprisingly, this is the end. Between several other stories, starting a new job and moving to a new city, I couldn't quite give this story the attention it deserved - but I hope you enjoyed it anyway, and that, like me, you still enjoy watching these two precious people fall in love.


End file.
